Ernest Hemingway Quotes
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He was just a coward and that was the worst luck any many could have.
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The thing is to become a master and in your old age to acquire the courage to do what children did when they knew nothing.
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He knew he would not be afraid. Even if he ever was afraid he knew that he could do it anyway.
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When you start to live outside yourself, it's all dangerous.
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A writer without a sense of justice or injustice would be better off editing the yearbook for a school for exceptional children.
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I try not to borrow, first you borrow then you beg.
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It is very bad for (an artist) to talk about how he (creates). It is not the (artist's) province to explain or to run guided tours through the more difficult country of his work. It's none of their business that you had to learn. Let them think you were born that way.
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Good dialogue is not real speech-it's the illusion of real speech.
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Until the dead are buried they change somewhat in appearance each day. The color change in Caucasian races is from white to yellow, to yellow-green, to black. If left long enough in the heat the flesh comes to resemble coal-tar, especially where it has been broken or torn, and it has quite a visible tarlike iridescence. The dead grow larger each day until sometimes they become quite too big for their uniforms, filling these until they seem blown tight enough to burst. The individual members may increase in girth to an unbelievable extent and faces fill as taut and globular as balloons.
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However you make your living is where your talent lies.
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You ought to dream. All our biggest businessmen have been dreamers.
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I am trying to make, before I get through, a picture of the whole world--or as much of it as I have seen. Boiling it down always, rather than spreading it out too thin. (On Writing.)
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But don't try to find an untroublesome woman. She will dull out on you. What makes a woman good in bed makes it impossible for her to live alone.
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How lazily the sun goes down in Granada, it hides beneath the water, it conceals in the Alhambra!
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He had loved too much, demanded too much, and he wore it all out.
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You're an expatriate. You've lost touch with the soil. You get precious. Fake European standards have ruined you. You drink yourself to death. You become obsessed by sex. You spend all your time talking, not working. You are an expatriate, see? You hang around cafTs.
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He's a great writer. If I didn't think so I wouldn't have tried to kill him... I was the champ and when I read his stuff I knew he had something. So I dropped a heavy glass skylight on his head at a drinking party. But you can't kill the guy. He's not human.
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All stories, if continued far enough, end in death, and he is no true-story teller who would keep that from you. Especially do all stories of monogamy end in death, and your man who is monogamous while he often lives most happily, dies in the most lonely fashion.
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To have come on all this new world of writing, with time to read in a city like Paris where there was a way of living well and working, no matter how poor you were, was like having a great treasure given to you.
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The first and most important thing of all, at least for writers today, is to strip language clean, to lay it bare down to the bone.
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The only kind of writing is rewriting.
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Write the best story that you can and write it as straight as you can.
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There is never any ending to Paris and the memory of each person who has lived in it differs from that of any other. We always returned to it no matter who we were or how it was changed or with what difficulties, or ease, it could be reached. Paris was always worth it and you received return for whatever you brought to it. But this is how Paris was in the early days when we were very poor and very happy.
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The first panacea for a mismanaged nation is inflation of the currency; the second is war. Both bring a temporary prosperity; both bring a permanent ruin. But both are the refuge of political and economic opportunists.