Sublime

Scott Fitzgerald had become a rival whom Hemingway would thereafter pit himself against.

The moral of his story was how you never know the size of hurt that’s in people’s hearts, or what they’re liable to do about it, given the chance.

and he appeared to have diminished somewhat; I don’t mean physically diminished, but some of the aura of indomitableness seemed to have gone out of him.

“The Fish” by Elizabeth Bishop “Leaving One” by Ralph Angel “A Cat in an Empty Apartment” by Wisława Szymborska “Apples” by Deborah Digges “Michiko Nogami (1946–1982)” by Jack Gilbert “Eating Alone” by Li-Young Lee “The Potter” by Peter Levitt “Black Dog, Red Dog” by Stephen Dobyns “The Word” by Mark Cox “Death” by Maurycy Szymel “This” by Czeslaw

“What a world,”

wit; it was a pleasure, for a while, to be a grown-up with another grown-up, to share a phase of life—early forties—and laugh about their fear of fifty.

Allen Campbell and Dorothy Parker were there, recently married after living together during the preceding year, and

Ernest Hemingway thought the “Crack-Up” pieces were “miserable.” People experienced emptiness many

a man who lived as if the wild places of the hemisphere were his for the taking.