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 to have them.

Ernest Hemingway

Tags: sin repent ernest-hemingway nick-adams



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Never fall in love?"
"Always," said the count. "I am always in love.

Ernest Hemingway

Tags: love always never jake fall-in-love count brett



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Oh, darling, I've been so miserable.

Ernest Hemingway

Tags: sad miserable darling the-sun-also-rises brett



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You're not a moron. You're only a case of arrested development.

Ernest Hemingway


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This was Brett that I had felt like crying about. Then I thought of her walking up the street and stepping into the car, as I had last seen her, and of course in a little while I felt like hell again. It is awfully easy to be hard-boiled about everything in the daytime, but at night is another thing.

Ernest Hemingway


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Why did they make birds so delicate and fine as those sea swallows when the ocean can be so cruel?

Ernest Hemingway


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Up the road, in his shack, the old man was sleeping again. He was still sleeping on his face and the boy was sitting by him watching him. The old man was dreaming about the lions.

Ernest Hemingway

Tags: life sea perseverance lions closing-line



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I've seen you, beauty, and you belong to me now, whoever you are waiting for and if I never see you again, I thought. You belong to me and all Paris belongs to me and I belong to this notebook and this pencil.

Ernest Hemingway

Tags: love writing paris a-moveable-feast



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Nessun uomo è un'isola, completo in se stesso; ogni uomo è un pezzo del continente, una parte del tutto. Se anche solo una nuvola venisse lavata via dal mare, l'Europa ne sarebbe diminuita, come se le mancasse un promontorio, come se venisse a mancare una dimora di amici tuoi, o la tua stessa casa. La morte di qualsiasi uomo mi sminuisce, perché io sono parte dell'umanità. E dunque non chiedere mai per chi suona la campana: suona per te.

Ernest Hemingway


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I hate a cramp, he thought. It is a treachery of one's own body.

Ernest Hemingway


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