Pilar / Pablo’s Wife Quotes in For Whom the Bell Tolls
Robert Jordan […] saw also the wife of Pablo standing there and watched her blush proudly and soundly and healthily as the allegiances were given.
“I am for the Republic,” the woman of Pablo said happily. “And the Republic is the bridge.”
“Do you ever go to Segovia?
“Que va. With this face? This is a face that is known. How would you like to be ugly, beautiful one?” [Pilar] said to Maria.
“Thou art not ugly.”
“Vamos, I’m not ugly. I was born ugly. All my life I have been ugly. You, Ingles, who know nothing about women. Do you know how an ugly woman feels? Do you know what it is to be ugly all your life and inside to feel that you are beautiful? It is very rare […] I would have made a good man, but I am all woman and all ugly. Yet many men have loved me and I have loved many men. It is curious.”
Because the people of this town are as kind as they can be cruel and they have a natural sense of justice and a desire to do that which is right. But cruelty had entered into the lines and also drunkenness or the beginning of drunkenness and the lines were not as they were when Don Benito had come out. I do not know how it is in other countries, and no one cares more for the pleasure of drinking than I do, but in Spain drunkenness, when produced by other elements than wine, is a thing of great ugliness and the people do things that they would not have done.
“There is no good-by, guapa, because we are not apart. That it should be good in the Gredos. Go now. Go good. Nay,” [Robert Jordan] spoke now still calmly and reasonably as Pilar walked the girl along. “Do not turn around. Put thy foot in. Yes. Thy foot in. Help her up,” he said to Pilar. “Get her in the saddle. Swing up now.” He turned his head, sweating, and looked down the slope, then back toward where the girl was in the saddle with Pilar by her and Pablo just behind. “Now go,” he said. “Go.”
Pilar / Pablo’s Wife Quotes in For Whom the Bell Tolls
Robert Jordan […] saw also the wife of Pablo standing there and watched her blush proudly and soundly and healthily as the allegiances were given.
“I am for the Republic,” the woman of Pablo said happily. “And the Republic is the bridge.”
“Do you ever go to Segovia?
“Que va. With this face? This is a face that is known. How would you like to be ugly, beautiful one?” [Pilar] said to Maria.
“Thou art not ugly.”
“Vamos, I’m not ugly. I was born ugly. All my life I have been ugly. You, Ingles, who know nothing about women. Do you know how an ugly woman feels? Do you know what it is to be ugly all your life and inside to feel that you are beautiful? It is very rare […] I would have made a good man, but I am all woman and all ugly. Yet many men have loved me and I have loved many men. It is curious.”
Because the people of this town are as kind as they can be cruel and they have a natural sense of justice and a desire to do that which is right. But cruelty had entered into the lines and also drunkenness or the beginning of drunkenness and the lines were not as they were when Don Benito had come out. I do not know how it is in other countries, and no one cares more for the pleasure of drinking than I do, but in Spain drunkenness, when produced by other elements than wine, is a thing of great ugliness and the people do things that they would not have done.
“There is no good-by, guapa, because we are not apart. That it should be good in the Gredos. Go now. Go good. Nay,” [Robert Jordan] spoke now still calmly and reasonably as Pilar walked the girl along. “Do not turn around. Put thy foot in. Yes. Thy foot in. Help her up,” he said to Pilar. “Get her in the saddle. Swing up now.” He turned his head, sweating, and looked down the slope, then back toward where the girl was in the saddle with Pilar by her and Pablo just behind. “Now go,” he said. “Go.”
