I don’t like Hemingway like I used to.  I don’t like his absorption in past problems, his superficial love, his false manliness.  It is an air that impresses those still searching for self—because it is their story—but there comes a point when one must move on in life and literature. 

                Still, I thought on a line from him this morning and went searching for the quote.  I thought I could find it quickly, but I could not remember the story from which it came.  I read through many.  The war anecdotes still hold weight.  I will always love “Fathers and Sons,” and “A Clean, Well-Lighted Place,” but to many of the others, they no longer earn my interest.

                “Hills Like White Elephants” makes me sick, and I wonder how many relationships might follow such a course: killing a blessing to preserve a fleeting state of freedom never intended to be permanent, how the after regret of an act drives resentment and revulsion toward another once loved. 

                I never found the quote, but I still know its gist, even if my words lack the lyricism of the original: “Remember the dead.  Remember the dead and the finest men you’ll ever know.”  I know I’m not saying it to perfect form.  In the story, it was spoken by a drunk veteran for the fallen, and I thought it a fitting day to search for the quote as I no longer reach for bottles. 

                Remember the Dead.  I do.  Honor the Dead.  I do.  Live the legacies war denied them to become.  I will.

                I don’t need the quote of another to know what I want to say.  I put the book away and returned to living. 

                Today is good.  Live it. 

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