'if any question why we died,
Tell them because our fathers lied.'
In other words...
Oh no sir. With respect, can I stop you? No, with a poem or any work of art we can never say 'in other words.' If it is a work of art there are no other words.
Yes, Sir. That's why it is a work of art in the first place.
You can't look at a Rembrandt and say 'in other words', can you, Sir?
Between this and the story about him reassuring F. Scott Fitzgerald re dick size, I’m developing a picture of Hemingway as the mother hen of the disaffected white male literary set of the early 20th century.
He probably called up Steinbeck sometimes and was like I CAN’T EVEN WITH THESE DIPSHITS and Steinbeck was all “That’s what you get for living in Paris, asshole”.
Archduke Franz Ferdinand:
I came here to have a good time and I honestly am feeling so attacked right now