Ernest Hemingway, fully Ernest Miller Hemingway

Ernest
Hemingway, fully Ernest Miller Hemingway
1899
1961

American Novelist, Short-Story Writer and Journalist

Author Quotes

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.

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.

Worry a little bit every day and in a lifetime you will lose a couple of years. If something is wrong, fix it if you can. But train yourself not to worry: Worry never fixes anything.

you can't get away from yourself by moving from one place to another.

You may not believe this. No one believes this, but it is true.

You're awfully dark, brother, he said. You don't know how dark.

The hardest thing to do is to write straight honest prose on human beings. First you have to know the subject; then you have to know how to write. Both take a lifetime to learn, and anybody is cheating who takes politics as a way out. All the outs are too easy, and the thing itself is too hard to do.

The real reason for not committing suicide is because you always know how swell life gets again after the hell is over.

Then he was sorry for the great fish... How many people will he feed?.. But are they worthy to eat him? No, of course, not. There is no one worthy of eating him from the manner of his behavior and his great dignity.

There is no rule on how to write. Sometimes it comes easily and perfectly; sometimes it's like drilling rock and then blasting it out with charges.

They arrested us after breakfast.

This was the price you paid for sleeping together. This was the end of the trap. This was what people got for loving each other.

Vice is a wonderful thing, Catherine said. The people who go in for it seem to have good taste about it.

We would be together and have our books and at night be warm in bed together with the windows open and the stars bright.

When I saw her I was in love with her. Everything turned over inside of me. She looked toward the door, saw there was no one, then she sat on the side of the bed and leaned over and kissed me.

Where we would be together and have our books and at night be warm in bed together with the windows open and the stars bright. That was where we could go.

Would you please please please please please please please stop talking?

You did not have to like it because you understood it. He could beat anything, he thought, because nothing could hurt him if he did not care.

Since I had started to break down all my writing and get rid of all facility and try to make instead of describe, writing had been wonderful to do.

That every day should be a fiesta seemed to me a marvelous discovery.

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.

So far, about morals, I know only that what is moral is what you feel good after and what is immoral is what you feel bad after and judged by these standards, which I do not defend, the bullfight is very normal to me because I feel very fine while it is going on and have a feeling of life and death and mortality and immortality, and after it is over I feel very sad but also very fine.

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.

The bulls are my best friends. I translated to Brett. You kill your friends? she asked. Always, he said in English, and laughed. So they don't kill me.

Romero never made any contortions, always it was straight and pure and natural in line. The others twisted themselves like cork-screws, their elbows raised, and leaned against the flanks of the bull after his horns had passed, to give a faked look of danger. Afterward, all that was faked turned bad and gave an unpleasant feeling. RomeroÂ’s bull-fighting gave real emotion, because he kept the absolute purity of line in his movements and always quietly and calmly let the horns pass him close each time. He did not have to emphasize their closeness. Brett saw how something that was beautiful done close to the bull was ridiculous if it were done a little way off. I told her how since the death of Joselito all the bull-fighters had been developing a technic that simulated this appearance of danger in order to give a fake emotional feeling, while the bull-fighter was really safe. Romero had the old thing, the holding of his purity of line through the maximum of exposure, while he dominated the bull by making him realize he was unattainable, while he prepared him for the killing.

Author Picture
First Name
Ernest
Last Name
Hemingway, fully Ernest Miller Hemingway
Birth Date
1899
Death Date
1961
Bio

American Novelist, Short-Story Writer and Journalist