The Sun Also Rises

Enjoying living was learning to get your money’s worth and knowing when you had it.

It is awfully easy to be hard-boiled about everything in the daytime, but at night it is another thing.

He was fairly happy, except that, like many people living in Europe, he would rather have been in America,

was a little drunk. Not drunk in any positive sense but just enough to be careless. “For God’s sake,” I said, “yes. Don’t you?” “Oh, how charmingly you get angry,” he said. “I wish I had that faculty.”

We were dancing to the accordion and some one was playing the banjo. It was hot and I felt happy. We passed close to Georgette dancing with another one of them. “What possessed you to bring her?” “I don’t know, I just brought her.” “You’re getting damned romantic.” “No, bored.” “Now?” “No, not now.” “Let’s get out of here. She’s well taken care of.

He had been reading W. H. Hudson. That sounds like an innocent occupation, but Cohn had read and reread “The Purple Land.” “The Purple Land” is a very sinister book if read too late in life. It recounts splendid imaginary amorous adventures of a perfect English gentleman in an intensely romantic land, the scenery of which is very well described. Fo

Brett was damned good-looking. She wore a slipover jersey sweater and a tweed skirt, and her hair was brushed back like a boy’s. She started all that. She was built with curves like the hull of a racing yacht, and you missed none of it with that wool jersey.

She grinned and I saw why she made a point of not laughing. With her mouth closed she was a rather pretty girl.

“All right. Have it your own way. Road to hell paved with unbought stuffed dogs. Not my fault.”