Ernest [Hemmingway] was always ready to lend a helping hand to the one on the rung above him.

So they were desperately in love and being desperately in love involves a desperate existence.

One should, for example, be able to see that things are hopeless and yet be determined to make them otherwise.

She confused him and hindered the flow of his ideas. Self-expression had never seemed at once so desirable and so impossible.

So when the blue smoke of brittle leaves was in the air and the wind blew the wet laundry stiff on the line I decided to come back home.

Now the standard cure for one who is sunk is to consider those in actual destitution or physical suffering

I am one of the few honest people that I have ever known.