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And Another Thing. Don’t Ever Kid Yourself About Loving Some One. It Is Just That Most People Are Not Lucky Enough Ever To Have It. You Never Had It Before And Now You Have It. What You Have With Maria, Whether It Lasts Just Through Today And A Part Of Tomorrow, Or Whether It Lasts For A Long Life Is The Most Important Thing That Can Happen To A Human Being. There Will Always Be People Who Say It Does Not Exist Because They Cannot Have It. But I Tell You It Is True And That You Have It And That You Are Lucky Even If You Die Tomorrow.

-Ernest Hemingway

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And Another Thing. Don’t

Ernest Hemingway

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And Another Thing. Don’t Ever Kid Yourself About Loving Some One. It Is Just That Most People Are Not Lucky Enough Ever To Have It. You Never Had It Before And Now You Have It. What You Have With Maria, Whether It Lasts Just Through Today And A Part Of Tomorrow, Or Whether It Lasts For A Long Life Is The Most Important Thing That Can Happen To A Human Being. There Will Always Be People Who Say It Does Not Exist Because They Cannot Have It. But I Tell You It Is True And That You Have It And That You Are Lucky Even If You Die Tomorrow.

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All Stories, If Continued Far Enough, End In Death, And He Is No True-story Teller Who Would Keep That From You. Especially Do All Stories Of Monogamy End In Death, And Your Man Who Is Monogamous While He Often Lives Most Happily, Dies In The Most Lonely Fashion.

I Drink To Make Other People More Interesting.

For A Long Time Now I Have Tried Simply To Write The Best I Can. Sometimes I Have Good Luck And Write Better Than I Can.

Retirement Is The Ugliest Word In The Language.

A Writer Without A Sense Of Justice Or Injustice Would Be Better Off Editing The Yearbook For A School For Exceptional Children.

I Felt The Death Loneliness That Comes At The End Of Every Day That Is Wasted In Your Life.

We Wait Always For Something That Does Not Come.

There Are Only Three Sports: Bullfighting, Motor Racing, And Mountaineering; All The Rest Are Merely Games.

Remember Everything Is Right Until It's Wrong. You'll Know When It's Wrong.

Remembers Everything

I Do Not Know What I Thought Paris Would Be Like, But It Was Not That Way. It Rained Nearly Every Day.

Everyone My Age Had Written A Novel And I Was Still Having Difficulty Writing A Paragraph.

Do Not Think About Sin, He Thought. There Are Enough Problems Now Without Sin. Also I Have No Understanding Of It.

My Father Was A Deeply Sentimental Man. And Like All Sentimental Men, He Was Also Very Cruel.

The Whiskey Warmed His Tongue And The Back Of His Throat, But It Did Not Change His Ideas Any, And Suddenly, Looking At Himself In The Mirror Behind The Bar, He Knew That Drinking Was Never Going To Do Any Good To Him Now. Whatever He Had Now He Had, And It Was From Now On, And If He Drank Himself Unconscious When He Woke Up It Would Be There.

We're Stronger In The Places That We've Been Broken.

The Road To Hell Is Paved With Unbought Stuffed Dogs.

Everything That's Innocent To Us Is Crazy To Them.

Everyone Has His Own Conscience, And There Should Be No Rules About How A Conscience Should Function.

Night Life Is When Everybody Says What The Hell And You Do Not Remember Who Paid The Bill.

His (the Writer's) Standard Of Fidelity To The Truth Should Be So High That His Invention, Out Of His Experience, Should Produce A Truer Account Than Anything Factual Can Be.

To Be A Successful Father... There's One Absolute Rule: When You Have A Kid, Don't Look At It For The First Two Years.

For A True Writer Each Book Should Be A New Beginning Where He Tries Again For Something That Is Beyond Attainment. He Should Always Try For Something That Has Never Been Done Or That Others Have Tried And Failed. Then Sometimes, With Great Luck, He Will Succeed.

They Can't Yank A Novelist Like They Can A Pitcher. A Novelist Has To Go The Full Nine, Even If It Kills Him.

Here Is The Piece. If You Can't Say Fornicate Can You Say Copulate Or If Not That Can You Say Co-habit? If Not That Would Have To Say Consummate I Suppose. Use Your Own Good Taste And Judgment.

Taste And Judgment

I Don’t. I Don’t Want Anybody Else To Touch You. I’m Silly. I Get Furious If They Touch You.

Farewell To Arms

How Lazily The Sun Goes Down In Granada, It Hides Beneath The Water, It Conceals In The Alhambra!

How Did You Go Bankrupt?" Two Ways. Gradually, Then Suddenly.

Hesitation Increases In Relation To Risk In Equal Proportion To Age.

You Are Killing Me, Fish, The Old Man Thought. But You Have A Right To. Never Have I Seen A Greater, Or More Beautiful, Or A Calmer Or More Noble Thing Than You, Brother.

The Good Parts Of A Book May Be Only Something A Writer Is Lucky Enough To Overhear Or It May Be The Wreck Of His Whole Damn Life - And One Is As Good As Another.

Anglers Have A Way Of Romanticizing Their Battles With Fish And Of Forgetting That The Fish Has A Hook In His Mouth, His Gullet, Or His Belly And That His Gameness Is Really An Extreme Of Panic In Which He Runs, Leaps, And Pulls To Get Away Until He Dies. It Would Seem To Be Enough Advantage To The Angler That The Fish Has The Hook In His Mouth Rather Than The Angler.

He Had Loved Too Much, Demanded Too Much, And He Wore It All Out.

The Only Thing That Could Spoil A Day Was People. People Were Always The Limiters Of Happiness Except For The Very Few That Were As Good As Spring Itself.

The Further You Go In Writing The More Alone You Are.

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.

Nobody Knows What's In Him Until He Tries To Pull It Out. If There's Nothing, Or Very Little, The Shock Can Kill A Man.

Go All The Way With It. Do Not Back Off. For Once, Go All The Goddamn Way With What Matters.

Why Do Old Men Wake So Early? Is It To Have One Longer Day?

The Echoes Of Beauty You've Seen Transpire, Resound Through Dying Coals Of A Campfire.

The Great Thing Is To Last And Get Your Work Done And See And Hear And Learn And Understand; And Write When There Is Something That You Know; And Not Before, And Not Too Damned Much After.

If The Book Is Good, Is About Something That You Know, And Is Truly Written, And Reading It Over You See That This Is So, You Can Let The Boys Yip And The Noise Will Have That Pleasant Sound Coyotes Make On A Very Cold Night When They Are Out In The Snow And You Are In Your Own Cabin That You Have Built Or Paid For With Your Work.

It's A Town You Come To For A Short Time.

Today Is Only One Day In All The Days That Will Ever Be. But What Will Happen In All The Other Days That Ever Come Can Depend On What You Do Today. It's Been That Way All This Year. It's Been That Way So Many Times. All Of War Is That Way.

There Are The Two Curses Of Spain, The Bulls And The Priests.

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.

Before We Take To The Sea, We Walk On Land. . . Before We Create, We Must Understand. . .

You're Beautiful, Like A May Fly.

You Re Beautiful

Poor Faulkner. Does He Really Think Big Emotions Come From Big Words? He Thinks I Don’t Know The Ten-dollar Words. I Know Them All Right. But There Are Older And Simpler And Better Words, And Those Are The Ones I Use.

Until You're Grown-up They Send You To Reform School. After You're Grown-up They Send You To The Penitentiary.

Wine Is A Grand Thing," I Said. "it Makes You Forget All The Bad.

Farewell To Arms

I Loved Her And I Loved No One Else And We Had A Lovely Magic Time While We Were Alone. I Worked Well And We Made Great Trips, And I Thought We Were Invulnerable Again, And It Wasn't Until We Were Out Of The Mountains In Late Spring, And Back In Paris, That The Other Thing Started Again.

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.

Because We Would Not Wear Any Clothes Because It Was So Hot And The Windows Open And The Swallows Flying Over The Roofs Of The Houses And When It Was Dark Afterward And You Went To The Window Very Small Bats Hunting Over The Houses And Close Down Over The Trees And We Would Drink Capri And The Door Locked And It Hot And Only A Sheet And The Whole Night And We Would Both Love Each Other All Night In The Hot Night In Milan. That Was How It Ought To Be.

I Was Always Embarresed By The Words 'sacred,' 'glorious,' And 'sacrifice' And The Expression 'in Vain.' We Had Heard Them, Sometimes Standing In The Rain Almost Out Of Earshot, So That Only The Shouted Words Came Through, And Had Read Them On Proclamations That Were Slapped Up By Billposters Over Other Proclamations, Now For A Long Time, And I Had Seen Nothing Sacred, And The Things That Were Glorious Had No Glory And The Sacrifices Were Like The Stock Yards At Chicago If Nothing Was Done With The Meat Except To Bury It.

Now He Would Never Write The Things That He Had Saved To Write Until He Knew Enough To Write Them Well. Well, He Would Not Have To Fail At Trying To Write Them Either. Maybe You Could Never Write Them, And That Was Why You Put Them Off And Delayed The Starting. Well He Would Never Know, Now.

Procrastination

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.

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.

The Only Way To Combat The Murder That Is War Is To Show The Dirty Combinations That Make It And The Criminals And Swine That Hope For It And The Idiotic Way They Run It When They Get It So That An Honest Man Will Distrust It As He Would Distrust A Racket And Refuse To Be Enslaved Into It.

I'm Not Going To Get Into The Ring With Tolstoy.

A Girl Came In The Cafe And Sat By Herself At A Table Near The Window. She Was Very Pretty With A Face Fresh As A Newly Minted Coin If They Minted Coins In Smooth Flesh With Rain-freshened Skin, And Her Hair Black As A Crow's Wing And Cut Sharply And Diagonally Across Her Cheek.

I Love You For All That You Are, All That You Have Been, All That You're Yet To Be.

Abstract Words Such As Glory, Honor, Courage, Or Hallow Were Obscene Beside The Concrete Names Of Villages, The Numbers Of Roads, The Names Of Rivers, The Numbers Of Regiments And The Dates.

They Say The Seeds Of What We Will Do Are In All Of Us, But It Always Seemed To Me That In Those Who Make Jokes In Life The Seeds Are Covered With Better Soil And With A Higher Grade Of Manure.

And We Could Have All This,' She Said. 'and We Could Have Everything And Every Day We Make It More Impossible.' 'what Did You Say?' 'i Said We Could Have Everything.' 'we Can Have Everything.' 'no, We Can't.' 'we Can Have The Whole World.' 'no, We Can't.' 'we Can Go Everywhere.' 'no, We Can't. It Isn't Ours Anymore.' 'it's Ours.' 'no, It Isn't. And Once They Take It Away, You Never Get It Back.

Always Stop For The Day While You Still Know What Will Happen Next.

As In No Other Form Of Lute Or Combat, The Conditions Are Such; The Winner Takes Nothing, Neither His Ease, Nor His Pleasure, Nor Any Notion Of Glory, Nor If He Wins Far Enough, Will He Find Anything Within Himself.

But Don't Try To Find An Untroublesome Woman. She Will Dull Out On You. What Makes A Woman Good In Bed Makes It Impossible For Her To Live Alone.

The Great Artist When He Comes, Uses Everything That Has Been Discovered Or Known About His Art Up To That Point, Being Able To Accept Or Reject In A Time So Short It Seems That The Knowledge Was Born With Him, Rather Than That He Takes Instantly What It Takes The Ordinary Man A Lifetime To Know, And Then The Great Artist Goes Beyond What Has Been Done Or Known And Makes Something Of His Own.

Survival, With Honor, That Outmoded And All-important Word, Is As Difficult As Ever And As All-important To A Writer. Those Who Do Not Last Are Always More Beloved Since No One Has To See Them In Their Long, Dull, Unrelenting, No-quarter-given-and-no-quarter-received, Fights That They Make To Do Something As They Believe It Should Be Done Before They Die. Those Who Die Or Quit Early And Easy And With Every Good Reason Are Preferred Because They Are Understandable And Human. Failure And Well-disguised Cowardice Are More Human And More Beloved.

Happiness Is Often Presented As Being Very Dull But, He Thought, Lying Awake, That Is Because Dull People Are Sometimes Very Happy And Intelligent People Can And Do Go Around Making Themselves And Everyone Else Miserable. He Had Never Found Happiness Dull. It Always Seemed More Exciting Than Any Other Thing And Capable Of As Great Intensity As Sorrow To Those People Who Were Capable Of Having It.

Found Happiness

My Heart's Broken,' He Thought. 'if I Feel This Way My Heart Must Be Broken.

There Is Seven-eights Of It Under Water For Every Part That Shows. Anything You Know You Can Eliminate And It Only Strengthens Your Iceberg. It Is The Part That Doesn't Show. If A Writer Omits Something Because He Does Not Know It Then There Is A Hole In The Story.

In A Power Hungry, Power Worshipping Society, Men Label Themselves Atheist.

You'll Lose It, If You Talk About It

What I Learned Constructive About Women, Not Just Ethics Like Never Blame Them If They Pox You Because Somebody Poxed Them And Lots Of Times They Don't Even Know They Have It — That's In The First Reader For Squares — Is, No Matter How They Get, Always Think Of Them The Way They Were On The Best Day They Ever Had.

Today Is Only One Day In All The Days That Will Ever Be.

I Thought That All Generations Were Lost By Something And Always Had Been And Always Would Be

Oh, Darling, You Will Be Good To Me, Won’t You? Because We’re Going To Have A Strange Life.

He Did Not Say That Because He Knew That If You Said A Good Thing It Might Not Happen.

That Terrible Mood Of Depression Of Whether It's Any Good Or Not Is What Is Known As The Artist's Reward.

That Seemed To Handle It. That Was It. Send A Girl Off With One Man. Introduce Her To Another To Go Off With Him. Now Go And Bring Her Back. And Sign The Wire With Love. That Was It All Right. I Went In To Lunch.

As I Ate The Oysters With Their Strong Taste Of The Sea And Their Faint Metallic Taste That The Cold White Wine Washed Away, Leaving Only The Sea Taste And The Succulent Texture, And As I Drank Their Cold Liquid From Each Shell And Washed It Down With The Crisp Taste Of The Wine, I Lost The Empty Feeling And Began To Be Happy And To Make Plans.

A Writer Can Be Compared To A Well. There Are As Many Kinds Of Wells As There Are Writers. The Important Thing Is To Have Good Water In The Well, And It Is Better To Take A Regular Amount Out Than To Pump The Well Dry And Wait For It To Refill.

Wine Is One Of The Most Civilized Things In The World And One Of The Most Natural Things Of The World That Has Been Brought To The Greatest Perfection, And It Offers A Greater Range For Enjoyment And Appreciation Than, Possibly, Any Other Purely Sensory Thing.

I Might Say That What Amateurs Call A Style Is Usually Only The Unavoidable Awkwardnesses In First Trying To Make Something That Has Not Heretofore Been Made.

This Was A Big Storm And He Might As Well Enjoy It. It Was Ruining Everything, But You Might As Well Enjoy It

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.

Why Should Anybody Be Interested In Some Old Man Who Was A Failure?

In Those Days, There Was No Money To Buy Books.

When I Had Finished The Book I Knew That No Matter What Scott Did, Nor How He Behaved, I Must Know It Was Like A Sickness And Be Of Any Help I Could To Him And Try To Be A Good Friend. He Had Many Good, Good Friends, More Than Anyone I Knew. But I Enlisted As One More, Whether I Could Be Of Any Use To Him Or Not. If He Could Write A Book As Fine As The Great Gatsby I Was Sure That He Could Write An Even Better One. I Did Not Know Zelda Yet, And So I Did Not Know The Terrible Odds That Were Against Him. But We Were To Find Them Out Soon Enough.

You Don't Have To Destroy Me. Do You? I'm Only A Woman Who Loves You And Wants To Do What You Want To Do. I've Been Destroyed Two Or Three Times Already. You Wouldn't Want To Destroy Me Again, Would You?

Everybody Has Something Wrong With Them.

But Man Is Not Made For Defeat. A Man Can Be Destroyed But Not Defeated.

War Is Not Won By Victory.

Only That Which Makes You Feel Bad After Doing Is Immoral.

When I Saw Her I Was In Love With Her. Everything Turned Over Inside Of Me. She Looked Toward The Door, Saw There Was No One, Then She Sat On The Side Of The Bed And Leaned Over And Kissed Me.

Once Writing Has Become Your Major Vice And Greatest Pleasure Only Death Can Stop It.

Got Tight On Absinthe Last Night. Did Knife Tricks.

You See I'm Trying In All My Stories To Get The Feeling Of The Actual Life Across, Not Just To Depict Life, Or Criticize It, But To Actually Make It Alive.

When You Stop Doing Things For Fun You Might As Well Be Dead.

Rush, That Most Exciting Perversion Of Life, The Necessity Of Accomplishing Something In Less Time Than Should Be Truly Allowed For Its Doing.

Accomplishing Something

There Are Only Two Places In The World Where We Can Live Happy: At Home And In Paris.

But In The Night He Woke And Held Her Tight As Though She Were All Of Life And It Was Being Taken From Him. He Held Her Feeling She Was All Of Life There Was And It Was True.

I Kissed Her Hard And Held Her Tight And Tried To Open Her Lips; They Were Closed Tight.

To Make War All You Need Is Intelligence. But To Win You Need Talent And Material.

I Always Rewrite Each Day Up To The Point Where I Stopped. When It Is All Finished, Naturally You Go Over It. You Get Another Chance To Correct And Rewrite When Someone Else Types It, And You See It Clean In Type. The Last Chance Is In The Proofs. You're Grateful For These Different Chances.

The Smallest Coffins Are The Heaviest.

I Believe That Basically You Write For Two People; Yourself To Try To Make It Absolutely Perfect; Or If Not That Then Wonderful. Then You Write For Who You Love Whether She Can Read Or Write Or Not And Whether She Is Alive Or Dead.

To Hell With Them. Nothing Hurts If You Don't Let It.

Ezra Was Right Half The Time, And When He Was Wrong, He Was So Wrong You Were Never In Any Doubt About It.

You're An Expatriate. You've Lost Touch With The Soil. You Get Precious. Fake European Standards Have Ruined You. You Drink Yourself To Death. You Become Obsessed By Sex. You Spend All Your Time Talking, Not Working. You Are An Expatriate, See? You Hang Around Cafts.

If The Wind Rises It Can Push Us Against The Flood When It Comes.

The Best Way To Find Out If You Can Trust Somebody Is To Trust Them.

I Used To Play Cello. My Mother Kept Me Out Of School A Whole Year To Study Music And Counterpoint. She Thought I Had Ability, But I Was Absolutely Without Talent.

Organizations For Writers Palliate The Writer's Loneliness, But I Doubt If They Improve His Writing.... For He Does His Work Alone And If He Is A Good Enough Writer He Must Face Eternity, Or The Lack Of It, Each Day.

There Is Nothing Else Than Now. There Is Neither Yesterday, Certainly, Nor Is There Any Tomorrow. How Old Must You Be Before You Know That? There Is Only Now, And If Now Is Only Two Days, Then Two Days Is Your Life And Everything In It Will Be In Proportion. This Is How You Live A Life In Two Days. And If You Stop Complaining And Asking For What You Never Will Get, You Will Have A Good Life. A Good Life Is Not Measured By Any Biblical Span.

When You Go To War As A Boy You Have A Great Illusion Of Immortality. Other People Get Killed; Not You. . . . Then When You Are Badly Wounded The First Time You Lose That Illusion And You Know It Can Happen To You. After Being Severely Wounded Two Weeks Before My Nineteenth Birthday I Had A Bad Time Until I Figured Out That Nothing Could Happen To Me That Had Not Happened To All Men Before Me. Whatever I Had To Do Men Had Always Done. If They Had Done It Then I Could Do It Too And The Best Thing Was Not To Worry About It.

All Modern American Literature Comes From One Book By Mark Twain Called Huckleberry Finn.

Writing Is The Clumsy Attempt To Find Symbols For Wordlessness.

An Intelligent Man Is Sometimes Forced To Be Drunk To Spend Time With His Fools.

The Fish Is My Friend Too...i Have Never Seen Or Heard Of Such A Fish. But I Must Kill Him. I Am Glad We Do Not Have To Try To Kill The Stars. Imagine If Each Day A Man Must Try To Kill The Moon, He Thought. The Moon Runs Away. But Imagine If A Man Each Day Should Have To Try To Kill The Sun? We Were Born Lucky; He Thought

There Isn't Any Me. I'm You. Don't Make Up A Separate Me.

Farewell To Arms

You Could Omit Anything If You Knew That The Omitted Part Would Strengthen The Short Story And Make People Feel Something More Than They Understood

Every Man's Life Ends The Same Way. It Is Only The Details Of How He Lived And How He Died That Distinguish One Man From Another.

Of All Men The Drunkard Is The Foulest. The Thief When He Is Not Stealing Is Like Another. The Extortioner Does Not Practice In The Home. The Murderer When He Is At Home Can Wash His Hands. But The Drunkard Stinks And Vomits In This Own Bed And Dissolves His Organs In Alcohol.

Some Lived In It And Never Felt It But He Knew It All Was Nada Y Pues Nada Y Nada Y Pues Nada.

There Are Events Which Are So Great That If A Writer Has Participated In Them His Obligation Is To Write Truly Rather Than Assume The Presumption Of Altering Them With Invention.

There Was No Really Good True War Book During The Entire Four Years Of The War. The Only True Writing That Came Through During The War Was In Poetry. One Reason For This Is That Poets Are Not Arrested As Quickly As Prose Writers.

Develop A Built-in Bullshit Detector.

Religion Is The Opium Of The Poor.

You May Talk. And I May Listen. And Miracles Might Happen.

I Love Thee And Thou Art So Lovely And So Wonderful And So Beautiful And It Does Such Things To Me To Be With Thee That I Feel As Though I Wanted To Die When I Am Loving Thee.

Time Is The Least Thing We Have.

This Is A Good Place," He Said. "there's A Lot Of Liquor," I Agreed.

Fortunately I Have Never Learned To Take The Good Advice I Give Myself Nor The Counsel Of My Fears.

He's A Great Writer. If I Didn't Think So I Wouldn't Have Tried To Kill Him... I Was The Champ And When I Read His Stuff I Knew He Had Something. So I Dropped A Heavy Glass Skylight On His Head At A Drinking Party. But You Can't Kill The Guy. He's Not Human.

Let’s Not Talk About How I Am. It’s A Subject I Know Too Much About To Want To Think About Anymore.

All Bad Writers Are In Love With The Epic.

Each Day Of Not Writing, Of Comfort, Of Being That Which He Despised, Dulled His Ability And Softened His Will To Work So That, Finally, He Did No Work At All.

When I Saw My Wife Again Standing By The Tracks As The Train Came In By The Piled Logs At The Station, I Wished I Had Died Before I Had Ever Loved Anyone But Her.

All Things Truly Wicked Start From Innocence.

Never Fall In Love?" "always," Said The Count. "i Am Always In Love.

Falling In Love

Never Fall In Love

I Was Blown Up While We Were Eating Cheese.

Farewell To Arms

Cowardice, As Distinguished From Panic, Is Almost Always Simply A Lack Of Ability To Suspend The Functioning Of The Imagination.

You Belong To Me And All Paris Belongs To Me And I Belong To This Notebook And This Pencil.

It's Harder To Write In The Third Person But The Advantage Is You Move Around Better.

Cheer Up,' I Said. 'all Countries Look Just Like The Moving Pictures.

I'm Always Reading Books-as Many As There Are. I Ration Myself On Them So That I'll Always Be In Supply.

There Is No Friend As Loyal As A Book.

The Writer's Job Is To Tell The Truth.

Telling The Truth

I've Tried To Reduce Profanity But I Reduced So Much Profanity When Writing The Book That I'm Afraid Not Much Could Come Out. Perhaps We Will Have To Consider It Simply As A Profane Book And Hope That The Next Book Will Be Less Profane Or Perhaps More Sacred.

Thou Wilt Go Now, Rabbit. But I Go With Thee. As Long As There Is One Of Us There Is Both Of Us.

The Clouds Were Building Up Now For The Trade Wind And He Looked Ahead And Saw A Flight Of Wild Ducks Etching Themselves Against The Sky Over The Water, Then Blurring, Then Etching Again And He Knew No Man Was Ever Alone On The Sea.

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.

Where A Man Feels At Home, Outside Of Where He’s Born, Is Where He’s Meant To Go.

The Only Decent Bone In Her Body Was Mine.

Tell Me Some True Things About Fighting.''tell Me You Love Me.''i Love You,' The Girl Said. 'you Can Publish It In The Gazzettino If You Like. I Love Your Hard, Flat Body And Your Strange Eyes That Frighten Me When They Become Wicked. I Love Your Hand And All Your Other Wounded Places.

Be Fully In The Moment,open Yourself To The Powerful Energies Dancing Around You.

A Man's Got To Take A Lot Of Punishment To Write A Really Funny Book.

I Am Thee And Thou Art Me And All Of One Is The Other.

I Have Noticed That Doctors Who Fail In The Practice Of Medicine Have A Tendency To Seek One Another's Company And Aid In Consultation.

Practice Of Medicine

Farewell To Arms

There Are Some Things Which Cannot Be Learned Quickly, And Time, Which Is All We Have, Must Be Paid Heavily For Their Acquiring.

Acquiring Things

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.

All Thinking Men Are Atheists.

He Knew He Would Not Be Afraid. Even If He Ever Was Afraid He Knew That He Could Do It Anyway.

There Is No Lonelier Man In Death, Except The Suicide, Than That Man Who Has Lived Many Years With A Good Wife And Then Outlived Her. If Two People Love Each Other There Can Be No Happy End To It.

The Best Ammunition Against Lies Is The Truth, There Is No Ammunition Against Gossip. It Is Like A Fog And The Clear Wind Blows It Away And The Sun Burns It Off.

Please Tell Me What Can I Do. There Must Be Something I Can Do

You Make Something From Things That Have Happened And From Things That Exist And From All Things That You Know And All Those You Cannot Know, And You Make Something Through Your Invention That Is Truer Than Anything True And Alive, And If You Make It Well Enough, You Give It Immortality.

He Liked The Works Of His Friends, Which Is Beautiful As Loyalty But Can Be Disastrous As Judgement.

A Writer's Problem Does Not Change. He Himself Changes And The World He Lives In Changes But His Problem Remains The Same. It Is Always How To Write Truly And Having Found What Is True, To Project It Is Such A Way That It Becomes A Part Of The Experience Of The Person Who Reads It.

Nobody That Ever Left Their Own Country Ever Wrote Anything Worth Printing. Not Even In The Newspapers.

Everybody Is Friends When Things Are Bad Enough.

I Like To Listen. I Have Learned A Great Deal From Listening Carefully. Most People Never Listen.

There Are Two Kinds Of Stories, The Ones You Live And The Ones You Make Up. And Nobody Knows The Difference, And I Don't Ever Tell Which Is Which.

Don't You Drink? I Notice You Speak Slightingly Of The Bottle. I Have Drunk Since I Was Fifteen And Few Things Have Given Me More Pleasure.

The Shortest Answer Is Doing The Thing.

Practice Any Faith You Wish. Got A Ball Field Up The Island Where You Can Practice. I'll Give The Deity A Fast One High And Inside If He Crowds The Plate.

The World Was Not Wheeling Anymore. It Was Just Very Clear And Bright And Inclined To Blur At The Edges.

No, That Is The Great Fallacy: The Wisdom Of Old Men. They Do Not Grow Wise. They Grow Careful.

Fish," The Old Man Said. "fish, You Are Going To Have To Die Anyway. Do You Have To Kill Me Too?

Never Mistake Motion For Action.

You’ll Ache. And You’re Going To Love It. It Will Crush You. And You’re Still Going To Love All Of It.

What Did I Know Best That I Had Not Written About And Lost? What Did I Know About Truly And Care For The Most?

I Loved You When I Saw You Today And I Loved You Always But I Never Saw You Before.

I Kept This To Remind Me Of You Trying To Brush Away The Villa Rossa From Your Teeth In The Morning, Swearing And Eating Aspirin And Cursing Harlots. Every Time I See That Glass I Think Of You Trying To Clean Your Conscience With A Toothbrush.

If A Writer Stops Observing He Is Finished. But He Does Not Have To Observe Consciously Nor Think How It Will Be Useful. Perhaps That Would Be True At The Beginning. But Later Everything He Sees Goes Into The Great Reserve Of Things He Knows Or Has Seen.

You're Awfully Dark, Brother," He Said. "you Don't Know How Dark.

A Bottle Of Wine Was Good Company.

We Ate Well And Cheaply And Drank Well And Cheaply And Slept Well And Warm Together And Loved Each Other.

To Invent Out Of Knowledge Means To Produce Inventions That Are True. Every Man Should Have A Built-in Automatic Crap Detector Operating Inside Him. It Also Should Have A Manual Drill And A Crank Handle In Case The Machine Breaks Down. If You're Going To Write, You Have To Find Out What's Bad For You. Part Of That You Learn Fast, And Then You Learn What's Good For You.

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.

I Was Always A Lonely Person When I Was With Everyone.

The Further You Go In Writing The More Alone You Are. Most Of Your Best And Oldest Friends Die. Others Move Away. You Do Not See Them Except Rarely, But You Write And Have Much The Same Contact With Them As Though You Were Together At The Café In The Old Days. You Exchange Comic, Sometimes Cheerfully Obscene And Irresponsible Letters, And It Is Almost As Good As Talking. But You Are More Alone Because That Is How You Must Work And The Time To Work Is Shorter All The Time And If You Waste It You Feel You Have Committed A Sin For Which There Is No Forgiveness.

I Am Always In Love.

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There Is Nothing You Can Do Except Try To Write It The Way That It Was. So You Must Write Each Day Better Than You Possibly Can And Use The Sorrow That You Have Now To Make You Know How The Early Sorrow Came. And You Must Always Remember The Things You Believed Because If You Know Them They Will Be There In The Writing And You Won’t Betray Them. The Writing Is The Only Progress You Make.

The Only Kind Of Writing Is Rewriting.

I Can't Stand It To Think My Life Is Going So Fast And I'm Not Really Living It.

Worry A Little Bit Every Day And In A Lifetime You Will Lose A Couple Of Years. If Something Is Wrong, Fix It If You Can. But Train Yourself Not To Worry: Worry Never Fixes Anything.

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