#hemingway

He no longer dreamed of storms, nor of women, nor of great occurrences, nor of great fish, nor fights, nor contests of strength, nor of his wife. He only dreamed of places now and the lions on the beach. They played like young cats in the dusk and he loved them as he loved the boy. He never dreamed about the boy. He simply woke, looked out the open door at the moon and unrolled his trousers and put them on. ↗

— Ernest Hemingway

#hemingway #dreams

With so many trees in the city, you could see the spring coming each day until a night of warm wind would bring it suddenly in one morning. Sometimes the heavy cold rains would beat it back so that it would seem that it would never come and that you were losing a season out of your life. This was the only truly sad time in Paris because it was unnatural. You expected to be sad in the fall. Part of you died each year when the leaves fell from the trees and their branches were bare against the wind and the cold, wintry light. But you knew there would always be the spring, as you knew the river would flow again after it was frozen. When the cold rains kept on and killed the spring, it was as though a young person had died for no reason. In those days, though, the spring always came finally but it was frightening that it had nearly failed. ↗

— Ernest Hemingway

#ernest-hemingway #fall #seasons #spring #life

I thought back to Meg’s advice about Hemingway sentences—simple declarative statements that showed the truth and distilled the meaning. My first attempt at that had been cynical and messed up. I gave it a go again. Find one lost sheep. The angels rejoice. ↗

— Laura Anderson Kurk

#college #cynicism #dating #faith #glass-girl

Hemingway was a prisoner of his style. No one can talk like the characters in Hemingway except the characters in Hemingway. His style in the wildest sense finally killed him. ↗

— William Burroughs

#except #finally #hemingway #him #his

It's rather splendid to think of all those great men and women who appear to have presented symptoms that allow us to describe them as bipolar. Whether it's Hemingway, Van Gogh... Robert Schumann has been mentioned... Virginia Woolf, Sylvia Plath... some of them with rather grim ends. ↗

— Stephen Fry

#appear #been #bipolar #describe #ends

Hemingway's remarks are not literature. ↗

— Gertrude Stein

#literature #remarks

My father was a deeply sentimental man. And like all sentimental men, he was also very cruel. ↗

— Ernest Hemingway

#hemingway #sentimentality-cruelty-ideology #men

The dead do not need to rise. They are a part of the earth now and the earth can never be conquered. For the earth endureth forever. It will outlive all systems of tyranny. Those who have entered it honorably, and no men ever entered earth more honorably than those who died in Spain, already have achieved immortality. ↗

— Ernest Hemingway

#on-the-american-dead-in-spain #the-spanish-earth #men

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 ↗

— Ernest Hemingway

#inspirational #writing #inspirational

I'd known since girlhood that I wanted to be a book editor. By high school, I'd pore over the acknowledgments section of novels I loved, daydreaming that someday a brilliant talent might see me as the person who 'made her book possible' or 'enhanced every page with editorial wisdom and insight.' Could I be the Maxwell Perkins to some future Hemingway, Fitzgerald, Wolfe? ↗

— Bridie Clark

#dreams #editing #fitzgerald #hemingway #wolfe