The Guermantes Way (In Search of Lost Time, #3)

by Marcel Proust

People are never completely alike, their way of behaving towards us, even, one might say, at the same level of friendship, reveals differences which offset one another in the end. When I knew Mme de Montmorency, she took pleasure in saying disagreeable things to me, but if I asked her a favour, she would oblige me in the most generous way by effectively using all the influence she had to obtain it. Whereas another woman, Mme de Guermantes for instance, would never have wished to hurt my feelings, never said anything about me except what might give me pleasure, lavished upon me all those gestures of friendliness which for the Guermantes constituted the richness of moral life, but, had I asked her for the least thing beyond that, would not have budged an inch to procure it for me, as in those country houses where the guest is provided with a chauffeur and a valet but where it is impossible to obtain a glass of cider for which no provision has been made in the entertainment arrangements.