My first Hemingwey novel. I must say, I’m hooked…
I chose this Hemingway novel to read first because it is about American living in Paris then traveling to Spain, and since I visited both of those places this past year, I figured it made sense. It was a wonderful story of travel, the confusion that comes with love, and discovering what you really want to get out of life.
She looked as though there were nothing on earth she would not look at like that and really she was afraid of so many things.
It is awfully easy to be hard-boiled about everything in the daytime but at night it is another thing.
You ought to be ironical the minute you get out of bed. You ought to wake up with your mouth full of pity.
Your an expatriot. You’ve lost touch with the soil. You get precious. Fake European standards have ruined you. You drink yourself to death. You become obsessed by sex. You spend all your time talking, not working. You are an expatriot see? You hang around cafes.
We never talked for very long time. It was simply the pleasure of discovering what we each felt.
There was much wine, an ignored tension, and a feeling of things coming that you could not prevent happening. Under the wine I lost the disgusted feeling and was happy. It seemed they were all such nice people.
Women made such swell friends. Awfully swell. In the first place, you had to be in love with a woman to have a basis of friendship.
That was morality, things that made you disgusted afterwards. No that must be immorality. That was a large statement.
I’ve got to do something. I’ve got to do something I really want to do. I’ve lost my self respect.
“My god!” Said Brett, “the things a women goes through.”
“Oh, I do feel such a bitch.”
France is the simplest country to live in. No one makes things complicated by becoming your friend for any obscure reason.
You know it makes one feel rather good deciding not to be a bitch.