Sweet Sunday afternoons beneath the chestnut-tree in our Combray garden, from which I was careful to eliminate every commonplace incident of my actual life, replacing them by a career of strange adventures and ambitions in a land watered by living streams, you still recall those adventures and ambitions to my mind when I think of you, and you embody and preserve them by virtue of having little by little drawn round and enclosed them (while I went on with my book and the heat of the day declined) in the gradual crystallisation, slowly altering in form and dappled with a pattern of chestnut-leaves, of your silent, sonorous, fragrant, limpid hours.
zeuek oroitarazten didazue oraindik bizitza hura, zuengan pentsatzen dudanean, eta zeuek daukazue zinez zeuen barruan bizitza hori, apur-apurka inguratua eta hertsarazia-nik irakurketan aurreratu eta egunaren beroa amildu ahala-zeuen ordu isil, ozen, usaintsu eta aratzen kristal taigabe, astiro aldakor eta hostailez zeharkatuan.