Once upon a time, an old writer, in lack of inspiration, was living in a small village in Germany. He never knew anything else than his lambs and cows, his little arpent of land and his wife. He was 18 years old when he got married; it was a very long time ago and now as time goes by and he’s growing older, he realizes that he didn’t fully lived his life if he never had to know writer’s glory. It is true, never someone has spoken of him as a good writer nor that had he never seen his name on the first page of the papers. However, what was mattering now that he reached his eighties; life had really gave a good lesson to the idealistic youngster he was.
This old man, used to go sometimes to the Liechtenstein because it was very close to where he was living. One day while he was there sitting in a park, he imagined a little republic, as small as Liechtenstein, only ruled by love affairs between teenagers. Nothing was mattering in this republic except love and affection. He found the idea far too pretty for being another fiasco, and he decided again to hold his pen and write all what was coming to his mind. And it was a success, a real success. The book got sold at millions of copies and his name got famous in all parts of the world. In only a few months, he became a millionaire and sold his old countryside house to move to the city. He changed his style of living and began to frequent famous artists. He made his moustache grow, and at eighty one years old, it seemed as he was only at the beginning of his life. Out there, where he was previously living, people begun to say that the farmer had always been unhappy if now he acts like that. So one day, a journalist asked him a pertinent question about his life:
—“Sir, if I may permit myself, how long did it take you to write this book?”
The writer looked at him and said:
—“Only six months, with hard work of course he continued smiling.”
—“No, no said the journalist, I know that you never have been famous before this book and what I want to know is how many weeks or how many months or how many years of meditation did it take you to realize this book?”
The writer was still smiling; he didn’t seem embarrassed to answer without a single lie.
—“All my life he said. I wrote several books when I was young but all of them have been refused to edition.
The journalist slightly closed his eyes and reopened them and said:
—“Does it embarrass you to pass from the stage of farmer to the stage of the intellectual at this point of your life.
—“No, absolutely not, all depends on the type of man you are.

"inspired from the old man and the sea of Ernest Hemingway"