Ernest Hemingway Quotes
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Now he would never write the things that he had saved to write until he knew enough to write them well. Well, he would not have to fail at trying to write them either. Maybe you could never write them, and that was why you put them off and delayed the starting. Well he would never know, now.
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She was looking into my eyes with that way she had of looking that made you wonder whether she really saw out of her own eyes. They would look on and on after every one else's eyes in the world would have stopped looking. She looked as though there were nothing on earth she would not look at like that, and really she was afraid of so many things.
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Today is only one day in all the days that will ever be. But what will happen in all the other days that ever come can depend on what you do today. It's been that way all this year. It's been that way so many times. All of war is that way.
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I belong to this notebook and this pencil.
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His (the writer's) standard of fidelity to the truth should be so high that his invention, out of his experience, should produce a truer account than anything factual can be.
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Worry destroys the ability to write. Ill health is bad in the ratio that it produces worry which attacks your subconscious and destroys your nerves.
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Rush, that most exciting perversion of life, the necessity of accomplishing something in less time than should be truly allowed for its doing.
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The cat has complete emotional honesty - an attribute not often found in humans.
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Here is the piece. If you can't say fornicate can you say copulate or if not that can you say co-habit? If not that would have to say consummate I suppose. Use your own good taste and judgment.
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Humility is not disgraceful, and carries no loss of true pride.
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Everything about him was old except his eyes and they were the same color as the sea and were cheerful and undefeated.
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In order to be a great writer a person must have a built-in, shockproof crap detector.
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Each day of not writing, of comfort, of being that which he despised, dulled his ability and softened his will to work so that, finally, he did no work at all.
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Hail nothing full of nothing, nothing is with thee.
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Wine is a grand thing," I said. "It makes you forget all the bad.
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Work could cure almost anything
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The brown blotches of the benevolent skin cancer the sun brings from its reflection on the tropic sea were on his cheeks. The blotches ran well down the sides of his face and his hands had the deep-creased scars from handling heavy fish on the cords. But none of these scars were fresh. They were as old as erosions in a fishless desert.
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Writing is the clumsy attempt to find symbols for wordlessness.
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Because Fascism is a lie, it is condemned to literary sterility. And when it is past, it will have no history, except the bloody history of murder.
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Home is where the heart is, home is where the fart is. Come let us fart in the home. There is no art in a fart. Still a fart may not be artless. Let us fart and artless fart in the home.
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The telephone and visitors are the work destroyers.
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(World War I) was the most colossal, murderous, mismanaged butchery that has ever taken place on earth. Any writer who said otherwise lied, So the writers either wrote propaganda, shut up, or fought.
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Always quit for the day when you know what you want to do next.
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I was a little drunk. Not drunk in any positive sense but just enough to be careless.