Journey To The End Of The Night - pg. 70

Proust, who was half a ghost himself, with extraordinary determination became immersed in the Infinite, in the misty futility of the functions and formalities which twine about the people of society, that vacuum full of phantom desires, of uncertain fools always awaiting their Watteau, irresolute, smut-fingering seekers after unlikely isles of amorous enchantment. But Madame Herote, who came of sound, popular stock, was held firmly to earth by stupid, healthy, definite desires.