By Ernest Hemingway
Hemingway's thoughts of his existence as an unknown author residing in Paris within the Nineteen Twenties are deeply own, warmly affectionate and entire of wit. He recollects the time while, terrible, satisfied and writing in cafes, he chanced on his vocation.
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Extra resources for A Moveable Feast (Scribner Classic)
If the reader prefers, this book may be regarded as fiction. But there is always the chance that such a book of fiction may throw some light on what has been written as fact. -Michel Then there was the bad weather. It would come in one day when the fall was over. We would have to shut the windows in the night against the rain and the cold wind would strip the leaves from the trees in the Place Contrescarpe. The leaves lay sodden in the rain and the wind drove the rain against the big green autobus at the terminal and the cafe des amateurs was crowded and the windows misted over from the heat and the smoke inside.
If you kept thinking about it, you would lose the thing that you were writing before you could go on with it the next day. it was necessary to get exercise, to be tired in the body, and it was very good to make love with whom you loved. that was better than anything. but afterwards, when you were empty, it was necessary to read in order not to think or worry about your work until you could do it again. i had learned already never to empty the well of my writing, but always stop when there was still something there in the deep part of the well, and let it refill at night from the springs that fed it.
Nor of such good friends as Charlie Sweeny, Bill Bird and Mike Strater, nor of Andre Masson and Miro. There is no mention of our voyages to the black forest or of our one-day explorations of the forests that we loved around Paris. It would be fine if all these were in this book but we will have to do without them for now. If the reader prefers, this book may be regarded as fiction. But there is always the chance that such a book of fiction may throw some light on what has been written as fact. -Michel Then there was the bad weather.