about Proust

I read a book about Proustian love, from I. van Krogten. This was not recently, but it was when I was a student. Amazingly, in the library of Psychology in Amsterdam, there was not even a handful of books about love. This may reflect a cultural trait or the struggle of the department to distance itself from Freud. Interestingly enough in the same period, in Italy there seemed to be an abundant amount of literature about love.
I picture the image of a dutch painting. A dutch woman looks tired and hungry when she plants seeds in the soil. In the Netherlands, the climate did not allow for two harvests and life was harsh for peasants.