"But by these same words, which put the decision concerning my happiness back into my own hands, my mother had plunged me into that state of doubt in which I had been already when, my father having given me permission to go to Phédre, and above all to become a man of letters, I had suddenly felt too heavy a responsibility, the fear of upsetting him, and the melancholy that comes when we cease to obey orders that, day to day, hide the future from us, and realize that we have at least begun to live life in earnest, as a grown-up person, to live the one life of which each of us is free to dispose."
-Proust vol. 4, pp. 318-19
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