Ernest Hemingway on his sixtieth birthday.
Posts tagged ernest hemingway.
When spring came, even the false spring, there were no problems except where to be happiest.
You expected to be sad in the fall. Part of you died each year when the leaves fell from the trees and their branches were bare against the wind and the cold, wintery light. But you knew there would always be the spring, as you knew the river would flow again after it was frozen. When the cold rains kept on and killed the spring, it was as though a young person died for no reason.
We ate well and cheaply and drank well and cheaply and slept well and warm together and loved each other.
Darling, I don’t live at all when I’m not with you.