ernest hemingway | a moveable feast

20 10 2007


Poetry Dispatch No.79 | June 9, 2006

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 the wine, I lost the empty feeling and began to be happy and to make plans.

Hemingway, “A Moveable Feast



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