“It must have seemed to Ernest Hemingway, as it had to his hero Harry Walden, the dying writer of "The Snows of Kilimanjaro " that he had come to a time when he was too tired to care much, a time without affect, a time when, facing the prospect of death, he had edged beyond pain: "For years it had obsessed him; but now it meant nothing in itself.”

— from the book