Quotes from Ernest Hemingway

I would stand and look out over the roofs of Paris and think, "Do not worry. You have always written before and you will write now. All you have to do is write one true sentence. Write the truest sentence that you know." So finally I would write one true sentence, and then go on from there.

Cdo gjë mund të kalohet në këtë botë të mallkuar. Ndrydhi të gjitha ndjenjat, vdis nga brenda dhe cdo gjë do të kaloj lehtë. Vdis për së gjalli, ashtu sic bëjnë më të shumtët e njerëzve, në të shumtën e kohës. Besoj se kjo është rruga më e mire.

He killed more men than the cholera.

Never go on trips with anyone you do not love.

Then they were together so that as the hand on the watch moved, unseen now, they knew that nothing could ever happen to the one that did not happen to the other, that no other thing could happen more than this; that this was all and always; this was what had been and now and whatever was to come. This, that they were not to have, they were having.

There is no left and right in writing. There is only good and bad writing.

It was a pleasant café, warm and clean and friendly, and I hung up my old waterproof on the coat rack to dry and put my worn and weathered felt hat on the rack above the bench and ordered a café 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. I was writing about up in Michigan and since it was a wild, cold, blowing day it was that sort of day in the story.

What are you made of? What you love. And steel added.

You know I'm no squealer, Harry.' 'You're a rummy. But no matter how rum dumb you get, if you ever talk about that, I promise you.' 'I'm a good man,' he said. 'You oughtn't to talk to me like that.' 'They can't make it fast enough to keep you a good man,' I told him. But I didn't worry about him any more because who was going to believe him?

No one should be alone in their old age, he thought. But it is unavoidable.

I loved the country so that I was happy as you are after you have been with a woman that you really love, when, empty, you feel it welling up again and there it is and you can never have it all and yet what there is, now, you can have, and you want more and more, to have, and be, and live in, to possess now again for always, for that long, sudden-ended always; making time stand still, sometimes so very still that afterwards you wait to hear it move,and it is slow in starting.

Where did you wash? the boy thought. The village water supply was two streets down the road. I must have water here for him, the boy thought, and soap and a good towel. Why am I so thoughtless? I must get him another shirt and a jacket for the winter and some sort of shoes and another blanket.

Poor goddamned rummies,' Marie said. 'I pity a rummy.' 'He's a lucky rummy.' 'There ain't any lucky rummies,' Marie said. 'You know that, Harry.' 'No,' I said. 'I guess there aren't.

But these, wide-finned in silver, roaring, the light mist of their propellers in the sun, these do not move like sharks. They move like nothing there has ever been. They move like mechanized doom.

He was asleep in a short time and he dreamed of Africa when he was a boy and the long, golden beaches and the white beaches, so white they hurt your eyes, and the high capes and the great brown mountains. He lived along that coast now every night and in his dreams he heard the surf roar and saw the native boats come riding through it. He smelled the tar and oakum of the deck as he slept and he smelled the smell of Africa that the land breeze brought at morning.

But then we did not think ever of ourselves as poor. We did not accept it. We thought we were superior people and other people that we looked down on and rightly mistrusted were rich. It had never seemed strange to me to wear sweatshirts for underwear to keep warm. It only seemed odd to rich. We ate well and cheaply and drank well and cheaply and slept well and warm together and loved each other.

I want you so much I want to be you too.

The one experience that he had never had he was not going to spoil now. He probably would. You spoiled everything. But perhaps he wouldn't

There is no such word as love. Just as there is no word for sorry.

The only writing that was any good was what you made up, what you imagined. That made everything come true. Everything good he had ever written he'd made up. None of it had ever happened. Other things had happened. Better things, maybe. That was what the family couldn't understand. They thought it was all experience. Nick in the stories was never himself. He made him up. Of course he had never seen an Indian woman having a baby. That was what made it good. Nobody knew that.

Damn my fish,' the boy said and he started to cry again.

He took all his pain and what was left of his strength and his long gone pride and he put it against the fish's agony and the fish came over onto his side and swam gently on his side, his bill almost touching the planking of the skiff and started to pass the boat, long, deep, wide, silver and barred with purple and interminable in the water.

I never think and yet when I begin to talk I say the things I have found out in my mind without thinking.

I've tried to reduce profanity but I reduced so much profanity when writing the book that I'm afraid not much could come out. Perhaps we will have to consider it simply as a profane book and hope that the next book will be less profane or perhaps more sacred.