Quote

Oh Jake, Brett said, We could have had such a damned good time together. Ahead was a mounted policeman in khaki directing traffic. He raised his baton. The car slowed suddenly, pressing Brett against me. Yes, I said. Isn't it pretty to think so?

Ernest Hemingway

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Ernest Hemingway
Age: 61 †
Born: 1899
Born: July 21
Died: 1961
Died: July 2
Author
Journalist
Novelist
Playwright
Poet
Screenwriter
War Correspondent
Writer
Oak Park
Illinois
Hemingway
Ernest Miller Hemmingway
E. M. Hemmingway
E. Hemmingway
E. Hemingway
Ernest M. Hemingway
Ernest Miller Hemingway
Car
Policeman
Raised
Pressing
Pretty
Policemen
Khaki
Together
Damned
Brett
Good
Directing
Mounted
Time
Traffic
Slowed
Think
Ahead
Baton
Thinking
Suddenly
Jake

More quotes by Ernest Hemingway

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You never understand anybody that loves you.
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Writing is something that you can never do as well as it can be done. It is a perpetual challenge and it is more difficult than anything else that I have ever done.
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Wine is a grand thing, I said. It makes you forget all the bad.
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The writer's job is not to judge, but to seek to understand.
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Go all the way with it. Do not back off. For once, go all the goddamn way with what matters.
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There are so many good ones to paint and if you paint as well as you really can and keep out of all other things and do that, it is the true thing.
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For luck you carried a horse chestnut and a rabbit?s foot in your right pocket. The fur had been worn off the rabbit?s foot long ago and the bones and the sinews were polished by the wear. The claws scratched in the lining of your pocket and you knew your luck was still there.
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It's all nonsense. It's only nonsense. I'm not afraid of the rain. I am not afraid of the rain. Oh, oh, God, I wish I wasn't.
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When we came back to Paris it was clear and cold and lovely.
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He could beat anything, he thought, because no thing could hurt him if he did not care.
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It's harder to write in the third person but the advantage is you move around better.
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What a writer has to do is write what hasn't been written before or beat dead men at what they have done.
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And bed, he thought. Bed is my friend. Just bed, he thought. Bed will be a great thing. It is easy when you are beaten, he thought. I never knew how easy it was. And what beat you, the thought.
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Bullfighting is the only art in which the artist is in danger of death and in which the degree of brilliance in the performance is left to the fighter's honor.
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Why should anybody be interested in some old man who was a failure?
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The telephone and visitors are the work destroyers.
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As you get older it is harder to have heroes, but it is sort of necessary.
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So this was how you died, in whispers that you did not hear.
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To hell with them. Nothing hurts if you don't let it.
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I would like to take the great DiMaggio fishing, the old man said. They say his father was a fisherman. Maybe he was as poor as we are and would understand.
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