He began as a minor imitator of Fitzgerald, wrote a novel in the late twenties which won a prize, became dissatisfied with his work, stopped writing for a period of years. When he came back...

Until you’re grown-up they send you to reform school. After you’re grown-up they send you to the penitentiary.

an unhappy childhood.” Redwing had enjoyed a fine time growing up, but he wondered if this whole expedition was unfolding more like a novel, and would be blamed on one person, one character, the guy...

When you have two people who love each other, are happy and gay and really good work is being done by one or both of them, people are drawn to them as surely as migrating...

I didn’t want to kiss you goodbye — that was the trouble — I wanted to kiss you good night — and there’s a lot of difference.

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...

Why, darling, I don’t live at all when I’m not with you.

If I walked down by different streets to the Jardin du Luxembourg in the afternoon I could walk through the gardens and then go to the Musée du Luxembourg where the great paintings were that...

Dying was nothing and he had no picture of it nor fear of it in his mind. But living was a field of grain blowing in the wind on the side of a hill. Living...

My wife and I had called on Miss Stein, and she and the friend who lived with her had been very cordial and friendly and we had loved the big studio with the great paintings....

This was the greatest gift that he had, the talent that fitted him for war; that ability not to ignore but to despise whatever bad ending there could be. This quality was destroyed by too...

I write one page of masterpiece to ninety-one pages of shit. I try to put the shit in the wastebasket.

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.

He smelled the odor of the pine boughs under him, the piney smell of the crushed needles and the sharper odor of the resinous sap from the cut limbs. … This is the smell I...

I have watched them all day and they are the same men that we are. I believe that I could walk up to the mill and knock on the door and I would be welcome...

I know enough to know that no woman should ever marry a man who hated his mother.

I hope I am not for the killing, Anselmo was thinking. I think that after the war there will have to be some great penance done for the killing. If we no longer have religion...

They love me like a pack of wolves.Ernest

He said we were all cooked but we were all right as long as we did not know it. We were all cooked. The thing was not to recognize it. The last country to realize...

I’m not a writer. Ernest Hemingway was a writer. I just have a vivid imagination and type 90 WPM.

You’re going to have things to repent, boy,’ Mr. John had told Nick. ‘That’s one of the best things there is. You can always decide whether to repent them or not. But the thing is...