[b]Ernest Hemingway
My, she said. We’re lucky that you found the place.
We’re always lucky, I said and like a fool I did not knock on wood. There was wood everywhere in that apartment to knock on too.[/b]
Just out of curiosity, does that actually work?
Happiness is often presented as being very dull but, he thought, lying awake, that is because dull people are sometimes very happy and intelligent people can and do go around making themselves and everyone else miserable. He had never found happiness dull. It always seemed more exciting than any other thing and capable of as great intensity as sorrow to those people who were capable of having it.
Let’s file this one under, “I was happy once”.
If a writer of prose knows enough about what he is writing about, he may omit things that he knows and the reader, if the writer is writing truly enough, will have a feeling of those things as strongly as though the writer had stated them. The dignity of movement of an iceberg is due to only one-eighth of it being above water.
Yes, another vaguely profound observation.
The bulls are my best friends.
I translated to Brett.
You kill your friends? she asked.
I’ll leave it at that.
To be able to say: I loved this person, we had a hell of a nice time together, it’s over but in a way it will never be over and I do know that I for sure loved this person, to be able to say that and mean it, that’s rare, señor. That’s rare and valuable.
Nope, never even came close. And I may have mentioned that before.
Don’t you ever get the feeling that all your life is going by and you’re not taking advantage of it?
And then one day it’s really gone. And you still didn’t.