A Moveable Feast: The Restored Edition

by Ernest Hemingway

As I ate the oysters with their strong taste of the sea and their faint metallic taste that the cold white wine washed away, leaving only the sea taste and the succulent texture, and as I drank their cold liquid from each shell and washed it down with the crisp taste of wine, I lost the empty feeling and began to be happy and to make plans.

All you have to do is write one true sentence. Write the truest sentence that you know.”

Sometimes the heavy cold rains would beat it back so that it would seem that it would never come and that you were losing a season out of your life. This was the only truly sad time in Paris because it was unnatural. You expected to be sad in the fall. Part of you died each year when the leaves fell from the trees and their branches were bare against the wind and the cold, wintry light. But you knew there would always be the spring, as you knew the river would flow again after it was frozen. When the cold rains kept on and killed the spring, it was as though a young person had died for no reason.

When spring came, even the false spring, there were no problems except where to be happiest.

We ate well and cheaply and drank well and cheaply and slept well and warm together and loved each other.

I thought that all generations were lost by something and always had been and always would be