Quotes from THE SUN ALSO RISES by Ernest Hemingway

While dining, dancing and much drinking in Paris...

"I mistrust all frank and simple people, especially when their stories hold together."

"Going to another country doesn't make any difference. I've tried all that. You can't get away from yourself by moving from one place to another. There's nothing to that."

"This wine is too good for toast-drinking, my dear. You don't want to mix emotions up with a wine like that. You lose the taste."

"I was a fool to go away. One's an ass to leave Paris."

"Be ironic... You ought to be ironical the minute you get out of bed. You ought to wake up with your mouth full of pity."

Somewhere between Paris and Spain, perhaps the few days in Burguette...

"Coffee is good for you. It's the caffeine in it. Caffeine, we are here. Caffeine puts a man on her horse and a woman in his grave."

Upon first dinner in Pamplona...

"It was like certain dinners I remember from the war. 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."

During the week long festival of San Fermín in Pamplona...

"I could not shut my eyes without getting the wheeling sensation. But I could not sleep. There is no reason why because it is dark, you should look at things differently from when it is light. The hell there isn't!"

And finally rejoining in Madrid after many drinks, flings, banters, and flown fists...

"Oh, Jake," said Brett, "we could have had such a damned good time together." "Yes, " I said, "Isn't it pretty to think so?"

Note:
I decided to forgo my long regarded personal studies in ethics, philosophy and economics (i.e. praxeology) for now, tempering my time spent reading poetry as well, in favor of reacquainting myself with the classic novels and writers of the early 20th century. It seems to be a necessary change, or at least desirable. With that said, I shall pursue writing poetry for books 9 (poetic mysteries) and 10 (essays/poems), with the latter as a metaphoric bookend of sorts... The book cover was the 1st edition, published in 1926 by Scribner's.

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