Quotes from Ernest Hemingway

Todo en él era viejo excepto sus ojos.

You should not judge; you should understand.

When the cold rains kept on and killed the spring, it was as though a young person had died for no reason.

I must hold his pain where it is, he thought. Mine does not matter. I can control mine. But his pain could drive him mad.

Now you are getting confused in the head, he thought. You must keep your head clear. Keep your head clear and know how to suffer like a man. Or a fish, he thought.

You look at the picture without prejudice,read book with open heart,like yours,but the life, you simply live

Dizem que as sementes daquilo que havemos de realizar se encontram já todas dentro de nós, mas sempre me pareceu que, naqueles que troçam da vida, as sementes se encontram cobertas de melhor terra e de uma percentagem mais alta de adubo.

Ülkeyi yöneten bir s?n?f var, ak?ls?z bir s?n?f. Hiçbirinin bir boktan anlad??? yok. Bu savaÅŸ bu yüzden ç?kt? iÅŸte.

Don't you ever get the feeling that all your life is going by and you're not taking advantage of it? Do you realize you've lived nearly half the time you have to live already?

He was an old man who fished alone in a skiff in the Gulf Stream and he had gone eight-four days now without taking a fish.

Are you less sad now?" Honest Lil asked "Yes." "Tell me, Tom. What are you sad about?" "El mundo entero." "Who isn't sad about the whole world? It goes worse all the time. But you can't spend your time being sad about that." "There isn't any law against it." "There doesn't have to be a law against things for them to be wrong.

Just two so far," Roger said. "My counselor and I." "My counselor and me," Johnny said. "How the hell do you write books?" "I can always hire someone to put in the grammar.

He whispered this last so low that it was inaudible to anyone that did not love you.

Cowardice... is almost always simply a lack of ability to suspend functioning of the imagination.

There is no time to think of what you do not have. Think of what you can do with what there is.

He was mad and plenty brave.

When I have an idea, I turn down the flame, as if it were a little alcohol stove, as low as it will go. Then it explodes and that is my idea.

You know the fiction, prose rather, is possibly the roughest trade of all in writing. You do not have the reference, the old important reference. You have the sheet of blank paper, the pencil, and the obligation to invent truer than things can be true. You have to take what is not palpable and make it completely palpable and also have it seem normal and so that it can become a part of the experience of the person who reads it.

Try to be alive. You will be dead soon enough.

In life, one must (first) last. ("Dans la vie, il faut [d'abord] durer.")

Bed is my friend. Just bed, he thought. Bed will be a great thing. It is easy when you are beaten, he thought.

Grief doesn't split.

If you ever live to be as old as I am you will find many things strange." "You never seem old." "It is the body that is old. Sometimes I am afraid I will break off a finger as one breaks a stick of chalk. And the spirit is no older and not much wiser." "You are wise." "No, that is the great fallacy; the wisdom of old men. They do not grow wise. They grow careful." "Perhaps that is wisdom." "It is a very unattractive wisdom.

How every one he had slept with had only made him miss her more