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Everything about him was old except his eyes and they were the same color as the sea and were cheerful and undefeated.

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
Color
Eyes
Eye
Everything
Undefeated
Cheerful
Sea
Except

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Your blood coagulates beautifully.
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The game of golf would lose a great deal if croquet mallets and billiard cues were allowed on the putting green.
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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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You're going to write straight and simple and good now. That's the start.''What if I'm not straight and simple and good? Do you think I can write that way?''Write how you are but make it straight.
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The best writing is certainly when you are in love
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When you have a child, the world has a hostage.
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Got tight last night on absinthe and did knife tricks. Great success shooting the knife underhand into the piano. The woodworms are so bad and eat hell out of all the furniture that you can always claim the woodworms did it.
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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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Now I am depressed myself,' I said. 'That's why I never think about these things. I never think and yet when I begin to talk I say the things I have found out in my mind without thinking.
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All good books are alike in that they are truer than if they really happened and after you are finished reading one you feel that it all happened to you and after which it all belongs to you.
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we would be together and have our books and at night be warm in bed together with the windows open and the stars bright.
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If the reader prefers, this book may be regarded as fiction. But there is always the chance that such a book of fiction may throw some light on what has been written as fact.
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I did not understand them but they did not have any mystery, and when I understood them they meant nothing to me. I was sorry about this but there was nothing I could do about it.
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Fish, the old man said. Fish, you are going to have to die anyway. Do you have to kill me too?
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It is one thing to be in the proximity of death, to know more or less what she is, and it is quite another thing to seek her.
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It is by riding a bicycle that you learn the contours of a country best, since you have to sweat up the hills and coast down them. Thus you remember them as they actually are, while in a motor car only a high hill impresses you, and you have no such accurate remembrance of the country you have driven through as you gain by riding a bicycle.
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His talent was as natural as the pattern that was made by the dust on a butterfly's wings. At one time he understood it no more than the butterfly did and he did not know when it was brushed or marred.
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My big fish must be somewhere.
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The telephone and visitors are the work destroyers.
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When we came back to Paris it was clear and cold and lovely.
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