Ernest Hemingway's A Moveable Feast (Scribner Classic) PDF
By Ernest Hemingway
Hemingway's stories of his existence as an unknown author residing in Paris within the Twenties are deeply own, warmly affectionate and entire of wit. He recollects the time whilst, bad, satisfied and writing in cafes, he chanced on his vocation.
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Extra resources for A Moveable Feast (Scribner Classic)
That meant he paid eighty-five francs for ten. 'they must have put a lot of money on at the end,' i said. but we had made plenty of money, big money for us, and now we had spring and money too. i thought that was all we needed. a day like that one, if you split the winnings one quarter for each to spend, left a half for racing capital. i kept the racing capital secret and apart from all other capital. another day later that year when we had come back from one of our voyages and had good luck at some track again we stopped at prunier's on the way home, going in to sit at the bar after looking at all the clearly priced wonders in the window.
All of you young people who served in the war. ' i said. 'You are,' she insisted. 'you have no respect for anything. ' i asked. ' 'No. ' 'I've been drunk,' i said. ' 'Of course not. ' 'The boy's patron was probably drunk by eleven o'clock in the morning,' i said. ' 'Don't argue with me, hemingway,' miss stein said. 'it does no good at all. ' Later when i wrote my first novel i tried to balance miss stein's quotation from the garage keeper with one from ecclesiastes. but that night walking home i thought about the boy in the garage and if he had ever been hauled in one of those vehicles when they were converted to ambulances.
Mind, they're no investment. ' we won the first with half of the money that we had to spend and he paid twelve to one, jumping beautifully, taking command on the far side of the course and coming in four lengths ahead. we saved half of the money and put it away and bet the other half on the second horse who broke ahead, led all the way over the hurdles and on the flat just lasted to the finish line with the favourite gaining on him with every jump and the two whips flailing. we went to have a glass of champagne at the bar under the stand and wait for the prices to go up.
A Moveable Feast (Scribner Classic) by Ernest Hemingway