Ernest Hemingway is probably my favourite writer. Once again, while I was arranging the photos below I was thinking about what he said about Paris in his book “A Moveable Feast.” All these green parks, the tiny streets and the magic little secrets suddenly make sense. You should all read the book as his clear and observing way of living and reporting what’s happening in front of his eyes or in his own heart is way too unique and rare to be missed!
When spring came, even the false spring, there were no problems except where to be happiest. The only thing that could spoil a day was people and if you could keep from making engagements, each day had no limits. People were always the limiters of happiness except for the very few that were as good as spring itself.
By then I knew that everything good and bad left an emptiness when it stopped. But if it was bad, the emptiness filled up by itself. If it was good you could only fill it by finding something better.
But Paris was a very old city and we were young and nothing was simple there, not even poverty, nor sudden money, nor the moonlight, nor right and wrong nor the breathing of someone who lay beside you in the moonlight.
(c) Ernest Hemingway, A Moveable Feast