Ernest Hemingway lived here

A few days ago, I wandered into a small town within the Latin Quarter of gay Paris. In that town, between a mosque and the Pantheon, I found Ernest Hemingway’s old pad.

Hemingway happens to be one of my favorite American writers—mainly because of his memorable quotes that are great for all writers (aspiring and/or experienced) to read. Have you read any of his work? His stuff is fearless, in a way, and it is also a complicated style that can be interpreted in multiple ways. Well, it’s complicated for a lot of other reasons. For one thing, some critics consider him to be a sexist writer; a male-chauvinist to be exact. It’s hard to dispute that argument because of the way he portrayed some of the women in his stories. However, (and this—I think—overshadows this negative perception of him) —- Hemingway was simplicity at its finest.

What does that mean? Well, Reader, it means that if at first glance his work might come off as repetitive, later it can reveal itself to be beautiful and full of technique. The man is memorable, quotable, and thanks to Woody Allen’s recent interpretation of him in Midnight in Paris — we can all imagine how incredibly charismatic and seductive he can be with his syntax.  Although, the character in the film was a satirical view on Hemingway, I tend to believe Woody is capability of grasping the essence of this man/writer/legend/person…etc. etc. etc.  Let’s not forget that he was handsome back then too.

All in all, the man knew how to tell a compelling story. In my imaginary world, if you were to cut Hemingway’s flesh he would bleed ink.     Okay, now I will stop drooling and admiring  and just say PICK UP  A BOOK if you haven’t already, and get to know this author.

Here are some clever Hemingway quotes.

* * *

Oh, Paris, you never disappoint. Ernest Hemingway lived in that building, he probably smoked a cigarette outside that door, leaned on that wall, took a leak somewhere around that corner, and walked up those stairs.   He was there, and, for a couple of minutes, I got to live in that space. I stood there wishing that I would somehow grasp onto one of his muses. Hopefully, she has been diligently waiting somewhere in that building for someone like me. Someone to latch onto. If I were Hemingway’s muse, I know I’d sure be missing him by now.

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