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.