The country I knew was one of revival and hope and "paradise lost" was a sentiment once reserved for the generation of my mother and father.
Can only and you can't and you were bitter, the pleasure of paradise lost seven door of a key.
Here's a mental exercise: picture a tropical paradise lost in an endless expanse of cerulean ocean.
You have an elegy here, a beautiful and plangent lament for something or someone lost. And we have to ask ourselves, "Could this be a paradise lost?"
Mary Hemingway was the one who placed this passage near the close of the book, where it delivers a sense of haunting finality—a glimpse of a paradise lost.
