I’ve learned not reading but living that life earns its description: Terror tells us warmth. Forgiving tells us hope. Experience is the better of chance. Dead reigns. Fear lies. So in these only things I warn you that Hemingway hurt. Those words birth in stone. The old man said thinking is our river. He said we are not a painful thing. Hate is sleep. War is dreaming. Love awakes. Observation is his sympathy.