farewell to arms
farewell to old friends
farewell to grand comrades
farewell to all picturesque scenery
farewell to gulls, trouts, snow, willows
farewell to my tranquil lakes and singing birds
farewell to my sweet girl, my everything, my all
while we had talked a lot about religion, and I only thought of the belief at night. I might not believe what priest held tight and always undertook. you see, common Italian did nothing wrong but it shelled over head all year round, from cold dry winter to dreary dull autumn. and it was spring again. people killed each other, like funny game, always started again. once again, how much did we love Swizerland. sure! Catherine was great for me and a good wife. to know this messy world was hard and let's not talk anything about the front. I never read paper.
oh! farewell! "They threw you in and told you the rules and the first time they caught you off base they killed you. Or they killed you gratuitously like Amyo. Or gave you the syphilis like Rinaldi. But they killed you in the.end." hopelessly, there wasn't any God, believe me.
some conversations were repeated for countless times, bringing superficial nonsense but colleting strengthes and pushing the sorrows that a man could shoulder. before every description of the bloody cold war, there were memorial and affective love mentioned and worrying and irrelevant bullshits about the physical and mental scars being collected as more Italian died. it is the death, the unhuman death of Catherine that adds the lot of unavailable doom to the unbearable sorrows in Henry's heart which probably should have been saved by holding the happy life with Cat, the last strew.
You deserve all that, my dear Earnest Hemingway.