Hemingway poured himself another glass of champagne. He always wrote in longhand, he said, but he recently bought a tape recorder and was trying to get up the courage to use it. “I’d like to learn talk machine,” he said. “You just tell talk machine anything you want and get secretary to type it out.” He writes without facility, except for dialogue. “When the people are talking, I can hardly write it fast enough or keep up with it, but with an almost unbearable high manifold pleasure.
Miss Dietrich was wearing a mink coat. She sighed loudly, took off the coat, and handed it to Mrs. Hemingway. Then she sighed again and sat down in an overstuffed chair. Hemingway poured a glass of champagne, brought it to her, and refilled the other glasses. Mrs. Hemingway told me that Bumby is the nickname of her husband’s eldest son, John, an Army captain stationed in Berlin. His two other sons, she said, are Patrick, known as Mouse, who is a twenty-one-year-old sophomore at Harvard, and is planning to get married in June, and Gregory, known as Gigi, who is eighteen and a freshman at St. John’s, at Annapolis. In addition to the present Mrs.
Hemingway asked her about some recordings she had made, during the war, of popular American songs with lyrics translated into German, and said he’d like to have them. “I’ll give you manuscript of new book for recordings if you want to trade even, daughter,” he told her.“You’re the best that ever came into the ring,” Hemingway said.Late the next morning, I was awakened by a telephone call from Hemingway, who asked me to come right over to the hotel. He sounded urgent.
Jack Britton, he continued, was a fighter he admired very much. “Jack Britton kept on his toes and moved around and never let them hit him solid,” he said. “I like to keep on my toes and never let them hit me solid. Never lead against a hitter unless you can outhit him. Crowd a boxer,” he said, assuming a boxing stance and holding his right hand, which was grasping the champagne glass, close to his chest. With his left hand, he punched at the air, saying, “Remember. Duck a swing. Block a hook.
Hemingway began with oysters, and he chewed each one very thoroughly. “Eat good and digest good,” he told us.He nodded. Then he nodded a few times at me—a repetition of the sign for attention. “What I want to be when I am old is a wise old man who won’t bore,” he said, then paused while the waiter set a plate of asparagus and an artichoke before him and poured the Tavel. Hemingway tasted the wine and gave the waiter a nod.
Han var ikke selv begejstret for det interview, kan man læse i hans breve. 'Hvorfor får vil hun fremstille mig som en fuld indianer?' eller noget i den stil.
Happiness is achieved when your aims and in life are determined, still doubting the efficiency of my words ? Give it a try and have the satisfaction you can obtain for yourself Joshua_encrypt am happy at last I have found a company am recovering my lost money from
“I think we are an outfit headed for extinction,” he said, starting to take off his necktie.
Love Hemingway, but he would have been cancelled before he could have gotten off the ground in our current society.
Ratio
Chancer than me just for gun Dear New Yorker Same abilities I'm better 😌
Now we know it’s ‘modes’ not ‘moods.’
I'm all over this like Ernest's mouth around an Idaho shotgun.
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