‘You belong to me and all Paris belongs to me and I belong to this notebook and this pencil.’

– Ernest Hemingway, A Moveable Feast

‘One day at the end of the fall when I was out where the oak forest had been I saw a cloud coming over the mountain. It came very fast and the sun went a dull yellow and then everything was gray and the sun was covered and the cloud came down on the mountain and suddenly we were in it and it was snow.’

– Ernest Hemingway, A Farewell To Arms