Quotation by Marcel Proust

... automatically, worn out by the gloomy day and by the perspective of a sad tomorrow, I put in my mouth a spoonful of tea in which I had softened a piece of the madeleine.... A delicious pleasure overtook me, isolated, disconnected from any idea about its cause. It immediately made life's vicissitudes indifferent to me, life's disasters became innocuous, its brevity illusory, in the same way that love operates, filling me with a precious essence: or, rather, this essence was not in me, it was me.
Marcel Proust (1871–1922), French novelist. Nouvelle Revue Française (1913). Remembrance of Things Past, vol. I, Swann's Way, p. 45, Pléiade (1954).

A madeleine is a small shell-shaped cake.
Surprise me with a
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