Sublime

He no longer dreamed of storms, nor of women, nor of great occurrences, nor of great fish, nor fights, nor contests of strength, nor of his wife. He only dreamed of places now and of the lions on the beach. They played like young cats in the dusk and he loved them as he loved the boy.

The Fitzgeralds rented a fifth-floor walk-up in Paris that spring, and in May, 1925, he and Ernest Hemingway met.

And now he has jumped more than a dozen times and filled the sacks along his back with air and he cannot go down deep to die where I cannot bring him up.

“Gertrude moved her large face close to mine. ‘You know, Hemingway, you’re someone I created, a macho character who roams the earth looking for adventure. The truth is, under pressure you have proved to be quite yellow, which is really an embarrassment to me.’

œIf you are lucky enough to have lived in Paris as a young man, then wherever you go for the rest of your life, it stays with you, for Paris is a moveable feast.”

Il était assez heureux sauf que, comme bien des gens qui vivent en Europe, il aurait préféré vivre en Amérique, et il avait découvert l'art d'écrire. Il écrivit un roman et, à vrai dire, ce roman n'était pas aussi mauvais que les critiques le prétendirent plus tard. Néanmoins, ce n'était pas un bon roman. Il lut beaucoup de livres, joua au bridge,

Molly Colum topped him, saying: “The only difference between the rich and other people is that the rich have more money.” Bested by a woman, Hemingway salved his ego by expropriating the witticism, having