I finished Hemingway's A Moveable Feast last week; it was my third time reading it. The first time through it made me return to the English department and declare a major. The second time I read it, I made a promise to myself that I would live in Paris while I was young, at least for a little while.
No life-changing revelations this time through. Other than, you know, I guess I really need to write a damn book.