I just reread chapters XIII and XIV of A Farewell To Arms — describing the night Frederic Henry says goodbye to Catherine Barkley in Milan before catching his train back to the front.

Hemingway uses his clear, direct prose like a sharp instrument to engrave the scenes in your mind. They become like memories of something you’ve actually experienced, and at the same time a vessel for all the memories of sad farewells to lovers that you really have experienced.

It’s an amazing piece of writing, beautiful and magical.