Ristorante We – Chicago

“I had the most rudimentary sense of existence, such as may lurk and flicker in the depths of an animal’s consciousness; I was more destitute than the cave-dweller; but then the memory–not yet of the place in which I was, but of various other places where I had lived and might now very possibly be–would come like a rope let down from the heaven to draw me up out of the abyss of not-being, from which I could never have escaped by myself: in a flash I would traverse centuries of civilisations, and out of the blurred glimpse of oil-lamps, then of shirts with turned-down collars, would gradually piece together the original components of my ego.”

– Marcel Proust. “Remembrance Of Things Past”.