I drink a second mouthful, in which I find nothing
more than in the first, then a third, which gives me rather
less than the second. It is time to stop; the potion is losing
its virtue. It is plain that the truth I am seeking lies
not in the cup but in myself. The drink has called it into
being, but does not know it, and can only repeat indefinitely,
with a progressive diminution of strength, the same message which
I cannot interpret, though I hope at least to be able to
call it forth again and to find it there presently,
intact and at my disposal, for my final enlightment.
I put down the cup and examine my own mind.
it alone can discover the truth. But how? What an abyss
of uncertainty, whenever the mind feels overtaken by itself;
when it, the seeker, is at the same time the dark region
through which it must go seeking and where all its
equipment will avail it nothing.
-- Marcel Proust. Swann's Way (1913) p.61
(tr. C. K. Scott Moncrieff and Terence Kilmartin
revised by D. J. Enright -- 1992)