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It is only paradise - if it keeps us out.

What was it Proust said about paradise?

That all paradises are lost paradises?

That the only true paradise is a lost paradise?

That it isn’t paradise until it’s lost?

That paradise is a name for a favourite form of loss?

 Proust himself could be more accommodating, and at one point implies that almost anything may be paradise if it keeps us out.

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