"He did not know why he was so irrationally happy, for nothing had changed in his life or hers. He had not even touched the tip of her fingers or looked her full in the eyes. But their evening together had given him a vision of what life at her side might be, and he was glad now that he had done nothing to trouble the sweetness of the pircture. He had a fancy that she knew what had restrained him..."
(Wharton 56)
Sometimes, a cup of coffee, a guitar, and a breezy day makes everything seem alright.
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Also, I want letters from Hemmingway
posted on Saturday, February 11, 2012 @ 10:46 PM
"I let them take me dancing or to the theater and even let a few kiss me goodnight. Not one of them had Ernest's great big square head or padding feet and hands; not one asked his wonderful questions or made me want to say, 'Do you gather me, Begonia?' I kept up with it, though, going out with nearly anyone who asked because Ernest, dear soul that he was, was theoretical--a lovely hypothesis--and hundreds of miles away." -The Paris Wife; Paula McLain
