Ernest Hemingway Quotes
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If two people love each other there can be no happy end to it.
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Honor to a Spaniard, no matter how dishonest, is as real a thing as water, wine, or olive oil. There is honor among pickpockets and honor among whores. It is simply that the standards differ.
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Life breaks all of us but some of us get stronger in the broken places.
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I hate a cramp, he thought. It is a treachery of one's own body.
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Write hard and clear about what hurts.
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The good parts of a book may be only something a writer is lucky enough to overhear or it may be the wreck of his whole damn life - and one is as good as another.
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At night, never go to bed without knowing what you'll write tomorrow.
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Oh, darling, you will be good to me, won’t you? Because we’re going to have a strange life.
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No horse named Morbid ever won a race.
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Why, darling, I don't live at all when I'm not with you.
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There are many good fishermen and some great ones. But there is only one you.
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That is what we are supposed to do when we are at our best - make it all up - but make it up so truly that later it will happen that way.
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Our nada who art in nada, nada be thy name thy kingdom nada thy will be nada in nada as it is in nada. Give us this nada our daily nada and nada us our nada as we nada our nadas and nada us not into nada but deliver us from nada; pues nada. Hail nothing full of nothing, nothing is with thee.
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If people bring so much courage to this world the world has to kill them to break them, so of course it kills them. The world breaks every one and afterward many are strong at the broken places. But those that will not break it kills. It kills the very good and the very gentle and the very brave impartially. If you are none of these you can be sure it will kill you too but there will be no special hurry.
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It was a pleasant cafe, warm and clean and friendly, and I hung up my old water-proof on the coat rack to dry and put my worn and weathered felt hat on the rack above the bench and ordered a cafe au lait. The waiter brought it and I took out a notebook from the pocket of the coat and a pencil and started to write.
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You make your own luck, Gig. You know what makes a good loser? Practice.
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The clouds were building up now for the trade wind and he looked ahead and saw a flight of wild ducks etching themselves against the sky over the water, then blurring, then etching again and he knew no man was ever alone on the sea.
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Every man's life ends the same way. It is only the details of how he lived and how he died that distinguish one man from another.
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How would that premise stand up if he examined it? That was probably why the Communists were always cracking down on Bohemiansism. When you were drunk or when you committed adultery you recognised your own personal fallability of that so mutable substitute for the apostles' creed, the party line. Down with Bohemianism, the sin of Majakowski.
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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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People fall in love, but have to climb out.
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A severed femoral artery empties itself faster than you can believe.
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Everyone behaves badly--given the chance.
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Always do sober what you said you'd do drunk. That will teach you to keep your mouth shut.