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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.

-Ernest Hemingway

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As In No Other

Ernest Hemingway

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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.

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More From Ernest Hemingway

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.

You Ought To Dream. All Our Biggest Businessmen Have Been Dreamers.

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.

Write The Story, Take Out All The Good Lines, And See If It Still Works.

It's None Of Their Business That You Have To Learn How To Write. Let Them Think You Were Born That Way.

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

Farewell To Arms

The Real Reason For Not Committing Suicide Is Because You Always Know How Swell Life Gets Again After The Hell Is Over.

The Only Thing That Can Spoil A Day Is People And If You Can Keep From Making Engagements, Every Day Has No Limits.

Always Quit For The Day When You Know What You Want To Do Next.

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

The Only Kind Of Writing Is Rewriting.

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

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

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.

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.

The Road To Hell Is Paved With Unbought Stuffed Dogs.

A Continent Ages Quickly Once We Come. The Natives Live In Harmony With It. But The Foreigner Destroys, Cuts Down The Trees, Drains The Water, So That The Water Supply Is Altered, And In A Short Time The Soil, Once The Sod Is Turned Under, Is Cropped Out And, Next, It Starts To Blow Away As It Has Blown Away In Every Old Country And As I Had Seen It Start To Blow In Canada. The Earth Gets Tired Of Being Exploited.

There Are Many Good Fishermen And Some Great Ones. But There Is Only One You.

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.

I Am Opposed To Writing About The Private Lives Of Living Authors And Psychoanalyzing Them While They Are Alive. Criticism Is Getting All Mixed Up With A Combination Of The Junior Fbi-men, Discards From Freud And Jung And A Sort Of Columnist Peep-hole And Missing Laundry List School. ... Every Young English Professor Sees Gold In Them Dirty Sheets Now. Imagine What They Can Do With The Soiled Sheets Of Four Legal Beds By The Same Writer And You Can See Why Their Tongues Are Slavering.

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.

You Never Understand Anybody That Loves You.

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

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

I Started Out Very Quiet And I Beat Mr. Turgenev. Then I Trained Hard And I Beat Mr. De Maupassant. I've Fought Two Draws With Mr. Stendhal, And I Think I Had An Edge In The Last One. But Nobody's Going To Get Me In Any Ring With Mr. Tolstoy Unless I'm Crazy Or I Keep Getting Better.

To Me Heaven Would Be A Big Bull Ring With Me Holding Two Barrera Seats And A Trout Stream Outside That No One Else Was Allowed To Fish In And Two Lovely Houses In The Town; One Where I Would Have My Wife And Children And Be Monogamous And Love Them Truly And Well And The Other Where I Would Have My Nine Beautiful Mistresses On Nine Different Floors.

You Must Be Prepared To Work Always Without Applause.

(world War I) Was The Most Colossal, Murderous, Mismanaged Butchery That Has Ever Taken Place On Earth. Any Writer Who Said Otherwise Lied, So The Writers Either Wrote Propaganda, Shut Up, Or Fought.

You Expected To Be Sad In The Fall. Part Of You Died Each Year When The Leaves Fell From The Trees And Their Branches Were Bare Against The Wind And The Cold, Wintery Light. But You Knew There Would Always Be The Spring, As You Knew The River Would Flow Again After It Was Frozen. When The Cold Rains Kept On And Killed The Spring, It Was As Though A Young Person Died For No Reason.

First, There Must Be Talent. . .then There Must Be Discipline. . .then There Must Be. . .and Absolute Conscience. . .to Prevent Faking.

For What Are We Born If Not To Aid One Another?

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.

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.

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

You Must Hold Hard To Life And Do It. But Life Is A Cheap Thing Beside A Man's Work. The Only Thing Is That You Need It. Hold It Tight.

My Working Habits Are Simple: Long Periods Of Thinking, Short Periods Of Writing.

I Don't Feel Any Way,' The Girl Said. 'i Just Know Things.

I Read My Own Books Sometimes To Cheer Me When It Is Hard To Write, And Then I Remember That It Was Always Difficult, And How Nearly Impossible It Was Sometimes.

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.

Fish," He Said, "i Love You And Respect You Very Much. But I Will Kill You Dead Before This Day Ends.

Fish In The Sea

The Sea Is The Same As It Has Been Since Before Men Ever Went On It In Boats.

Find The Best Writers, Pay Them To Write, And Avoid Typos At All Costs.

The First Panacea For A Mismanaged Nation Is Inflation Of The Currency; The Second Is War. Both Bring A Temporary Prosperity; Both Bring A Permanent Ruin. But Both Are The Refuge Of Political And Economic Opportunists.

Man Is Not Made For Defeat.

Everything About Him Was Old Except His Eyes And They Were The Same Color As The Sea And Were Cheerful And Undefeated.

Everything You Have Is To Give. Thou Art A Phenomenon Of Philosophy And An Unfortunate Man.

The Shortest Answer Is Doing The Thing.

You Can Write Anytime People Will Leave You Alone And Not Interrupt You.

War Is No Longer Made By Simply Analyzed Economic Forces If It Ever Was. War Is Made Or Planned Now By Individual Men, Demagogues And Dictators Who Play On The Patriotism Of Their People To Mislead Them Into A Belief In The Great Fallacy Of War When All Their Vaunted Reforms Have Failed To Satisfy The People They Misrule.

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

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.

There Isnt Always An Explanation For Everything.

He Had Always Known What I Did Not Know And What, When I Learned It, I Was Always Able To Forget. But I Did Not Know That Then, Although I Learned It Later.

I Have A Rotten Habit Of Picturing The Bedroom Scenes Of My Friends.

In Order To Write About Life First You Must Live It.

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.

Cowardice, As Distinguished From Panic, Is Almost Always Simply A Lack Of Ability To Suspend The Functioning Of The Imagination. Learning To Suspend Your Imagination And Live Completely In The Very Second Of The Present With No Before And No After Is The Greatest Gift A Soldier Can Acquire.

Have Faith In The Yankees My Son. Think Of The Great Dimaggio.

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.

Prose Is Architecture, Not Interior Decoration, And The Baroque Is Over.

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

What Difference Does It Make If You Live In A Picturesque Little Outhouse Surrounded By 300 Feeble Minded Goats And Your Faithful Dog? The Question Is: Can You Write?

No Well-run Yacht Basin In Southern Waters Is Complete Without At Least Two Sun-burned, Salt Bleached-headed Esthonians Who Are Waiting For A Check From Their Last Article. When It Comes They Will Set Sail To Another Yacht Basin And Write Another Saga.

And If There Is Not Any Such Thing As A Long Time, Nor The Rest Of Your Lives, Nor From Now On, But There Is Only Now, Why Then Now Is The Thing To Praise And I Am Very Happy With It.

Rest Of Your Life

Work Could Cure Almost Anything

All Good Books Are Alike In That They Are Truer Than If They Had Really Happened And After You Are Finished Reading One You Will Feel That All That Happened To You And Afterwards It All Belongs To You: The Good And The Bad, The Ecstasy, The Remorse And Sorrow, The People And The Places And How The Weather Was. If You Can Get So That You Can Give That To People, Then You Are A Writer.

Nobody Ever Lives Their Life All The Way Up Except Bullfighters.

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.

Clearly I Miss Him, Having Been Brought Up In Religion. But Now A Man Must Be Responsible To Himself.

A Beautiful Vacuum Filled With Wealthy Monogamists, All Powerful And Members Of The Best Families All Drinking Themselves To Death.

No Horse Named Morbid Ever Won A Race.

Drinking Is A Way Of Ending The Day.

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

I Would Write One True Sentence, And Then Go On From There.

I Wish I Could Write Well Enough To Write About Aircraft. Faulkner Did It Very Well In Pylon But You Cannot Do Something Someone Else Has Done Though You Might Have Done It If They Hadn't.

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

The Things Of The Night Cannot Be Explained In The Day, Because They Do Not Then Exist.

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.

After Writing A Story I Was Always Empty And Both Sad And Happy, As Though I Had Made Love.

Some People, When They Hear An Echo, Think They Originated The Sound.

The English Talked With Inflected Phrases. One Phrase To Mean Everything.

I Was Young And Not Gloomy And There Were Always Strange And Comic Things That Happened In The Worst Time.

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.

In Modern War... You Will Die Like A Dog For No Good Reason.

Write Drunk; Edit Sober.

It Is Appearances, Characteristics And Performance That Make A Man Love An Airplane, And They, Are What Put Emotion Into One. You Love A Lot Of Things If You Live Around Them, But There Isn't Any Woman And There Isn't Any Horse, Nor Any Before Nor Any After, That Is As Lovely As A Great Airplane, And Men Who Love Them Are Faithful To Them Even Though They Leave Them For Others. A Man Has Only One Virginity To Lose In Fighters, And If It Is A Lovely Plane He Loses It To, There His Heart Will Ever Be.

Kilimanjaro Is A Snow-covered Mountain 19,710 Feet High, And Is Said To Be The Highest Mountain In Africa. Its Western Summit Is Called The Masai 'ngaje Ngai', The House Of God. Close To The Western Summit There Is A Dried And Frozen Carcas Of A Leopard. No One Has Explained What The Leopard Was Seeking At That Altitude.

Something, Or Something Awful Or Something Wonderful Was Certain To Happen On Every Day In This Part Of Africa.

Home Is Where The Heart Is, Home Is Where The Fart Is. Come Let Us Fart In The Home. There Is No Art In A Fart. Still A Fart May Not Be Artless. Let Us Fart And Artless Fart In The Home.

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

Romance Was A Game, Like Bridge, In Which You Said Things Instead Of Playing Cards. Like Bridge You Had To Pretend You Were Playing For Money Or Playing For Some Stakes.

Keep Right On Lying To Me. That's What I Want You To Do.

Farewell To Arms

Isn't It Pretty To Think So.

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.

I Don't Think I Ever Owned Twenty Pencils At One Time. Wearing Down Seven Number-two Pencils Is A Good Day's Work.

You Did Not Kill The Fish Only To Keep Alive And To Sell For Food, He Thought. You Killed Him For Pride And Because You Are A Fisherman. You Loved Him When He Was Alive And You Loved Him After. If You Love Him, It Is Not A Sin To Kill Him. Or Is It More?

He Remembered Poor Julian [actually F. Scott Fitzgerald] And His Romantic Awe Of Them And How He Had Started A Story Once That Began, "the Very Rich Are Different From You And Me." And How Someone Had Said To Julian, "yes, They Have More Money."

Scott Fitzgerald

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

Some Other Places Were Not So Good But Maybe We Were Not So Good When We Were In Them.

The Smallest Coffins Are The Heaviest.

Mr. Barnes, It Is Because I Have Lived Very Much That Now I Can Enjoy Everything So Well

The Writer's Job Is Not To Judge, But To Seek To Understand.

Real Seriousness In Regard To Writing Being One Of The Two Absolute Necessities. The Other, Unfortunately, Is Talent.

The First Draft Of Anything Is Sh*t.

My Aim Is To Put Down On Paper What I See And What I Feel In The Best And Simplest Way.

Inspirational Life

In Order To Be A Great Writer A Person Must Have A Built-in, Shockproof Crap Detector.

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

When People Talk, Listen Completely. Most People Never Listen.

Actually If A Writer Needs A Dictionary He Should Not Write. He Should Have Read The Dictionary At Least Three Times From Beginning To End And Then Have Loaned It To Someone Who Needs It. There Are Only Certain Words Which Are Valid And Similes (bring Me My Dictionary) Are Like Defective Ammunition (the Lowest Thing I Can Think Of At This Time).

A Severed Femoral Artery Empties Itself Faster Than You Can Believe.

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

War Is Not Won By Victory.

Now Catherine Would Die. That Was What You Did. You Died. You Did Not Know What It Was About. You Never Had Time To Learn. They Threw You In And Told You The Rules And The First Time They Caught You Off Base They Killed You. Or They Killed You Gratuitously Like Aymo. Or Gave You The Syphilis Like Rinaldi. But They Killed You In The End. You Could Count On That. Stay Around And They Would Kill You.

Farewell To Arms

Before You Quit, You Have To Try

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.

The Circus Is The Only Fun You Can Buy That Is Good For You.

Let Him Think Is I Am More Man Than I Am And I Will Be So.

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.

One Cat Just Leads To Another." [letter From Finca Vigia, Cuba, To His First Wife, Elizabeth Hadley Richardson (1943).]

All Thinking Men Are Atheists.

No Catalogue Of Horrors Ever Kept Men From War. Before The War You Always Think That It's Not You That Dies. But You Will Die, Brother, If You Go To It Long Enough.

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 Was A Hawk In The Sky. Living Was An Earthen Jar Of Water In The Dust Of The Threshing With The Grain Flailed Out And The Chaff Blowing. Living Was A Horse Between Your Legs And A Carbine Under One Leg And A Hill And A Valley And A Stream With Trees Along It And The Far Side Of The Valley And The Hills Beyond.

A Man Does Not Exist Until He Is Drunk.

I Am Trying To Make, Before I Get Through, A Picture Of The Whole World--or As Much Of It As I Have Seen. Boiling It Down Always, Rather Than Spreading It Out Too Thin. (on Writing.)

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.

Wine Is The Most Civilized Thing In The World.

Anyone Can Be A Fisherman In May.

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.

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

You Know You’re Writing Well When You're Throwing Good Stuff Into The Wastebasket.

A Cat Has Absolute Honesty.

One Cat Just Leads To Another.

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

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

Falling In Love

Never Fall In Love

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.

When You Work Hard All Day With Your Head And Know You Must Work Again The Next Day What Else Can Change Your Ideas And Make Them Run On A Different Plane Like Whisky?

We Have Very Primitive Emotions,” He Said . “it's Impossible Not To Be Competitive. Spoils Everything, Though.

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.

Remember To Get The Weather In Your Damn Book-weather Is Very Important.

Yes, They Have More Money.

Hail Nothing Full Of Nothing, Nothing Is With Thee.

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.

I Am So In Love With You That There Isn’t Anything Else.

I Was A Little Drunk. Not Drunk In Any Positive Sense But Just Enough To Be Careless.

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 Except That They Have Orders To Challenge All Travelers And Ask To See Their Papers. It Is Only Orders That Come Between Us. Those Men Are Not Fascists. I Call Them So, But They Are Not. They Are Poor Men As We Are. They Should Never Be Fighting Against Us And I Do Not Like To Think Of The Killing.

You’re My Religion. You’re All I’ve Got.

Farewell To Arms

Why, Darling, I Don't Live At All When I'm Not With You.

Farewell To Arms

Every Day Above Earth Is A Good Day.

But Did Thee Feel The Earth Move?

The Bicycle Riders Drank Much Wine, And Were Burned And Browned By The Sun. They Did Not Take The Race Seriously Except Among Themselves.

He Was Violating The Second Rule Of The Two Rules For Getting On Well With People That Speak Spanish; Give The Men Tobacco And Leave The Women Alone

Somebody Just Back Of You While You Are Fishing Is As Bad As Someone Looking Over Your Shoulder While You Write A Letter To Your Girl.

Everybody Has Strange Things That Mean Things To Them. You Couldn't Help It.

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

There Is No Night Life In Spain. They Stay Up Late But They Get Up Late. That Is Not Night Life. That Is Delaying The Day.

Just As, With The Radio, There Are Certain Things That You Become Fond Of,and You Welcome Them And Resent The New Things

Failure And Well-disguised Cowardice Are More Human And More Beloved.

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

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

Though There Is One Part Of Writing That Is Solid And You Do It No Harm By Talking About It, The Other Is Fragile, And If You Talk About It, The Structure Cracks And You Have Nothing.

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.

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.

Never Write About A Place Until You're Away From It, Because It Gives You Perspective. Immediately After You've Seen Something You Can Give A Photographic Description Of It And Make It Accurate. That's Good Practice, But It Isn't Creative Writing.

Your Blood Coagulates Beautifully.

I Did Not Care What It Was All About. All I Wanted To Know Was How To Live In It. Maybe If You Found Out How To Live In It You Learned From That What Is Was All About.

I'm Tired Of Everybody. Please Forgive Me.

There Were Many Words That You Could Not Stand To Hear And Finally Only The Names Of Places Had Dignity. Certain Numbers Were The Same Way And Certain Dates And These With The Names Of The Places Were All You Could Say And Have Them Mean Anything. 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.

However You Make Your Living Is Where Your Talent Lies.

When I Am Working On A Book Or A Story I Write Every Morning As Soon After First Light As Possible. There Is No One To Disturb You And Is It Is Cool And You Come To Your Work And Warm As You Write. You Read What You Have Written And, As You Always Stop When You Know What Is Going To Happen Next, You Go On From There. You Write Until You Come To A Place Where You Still Have Your Juice And Know What Will Happen Next And You Stop And Try To Live Through Until The Next Day When You Hit Again.

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

My,' She Said. 'we're Lucky That You Found The Place.' We're Always Lucky,' I Said And Like A Fool I Did Not Knock On Wood. There Was Wood Everywhere In That Apartment To Knock On Too.

Because Fascism Is A Lie, It Is Condemned To Literary Sterility. And When It Is Past, It Will Have No History, Except The Bloody History Of Murder.

The Writer's Job Is To Tell The Truth.

Telling The Truth

I've Seen A Lot Of Patriots And They All Died Just Like Anybody Else If It Hurt Bad Enough And Once They Were Dead Their Patriotism Was Only Good For Legends; It Was Bad For Their Prose And Made Them Write Bad Poetry. If You Are Going To Be A Great Patriot I.e. Loyal To Any Existing Order Of Government (not One Who Wishes To Destroy The Existing For Something Better) You Want To Be Killed Early If Your Life And Works Won't Stink.

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.

The Brown Blotches Of The Benevolent Skin Cancer The Sun Brings From Its Reflection On The Tropic Sea Were On His Cheeks. The Blotches Ran Well Down The Sides Of His Face And His Hands Had The Deep-creased Scars From Handling Heavy Fish On The Cords. But None Of These Scars Were Fresh. They Were As Old As Erosions In A Fishless Desert.

We Thought Of Wine As Something As Healthy And Normal As Food And Also As A Great Giver Of Happiness And Well Being And Delight.

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

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

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

The Story Was Writing Itself And I Was Having A Hard Time Keeping Up With It.

Anglers Have A Way Of Romanticizing Their Battles With Fish.

Try And Write Straight English; Never Using Slang Except In Dialogue And Then Only When Unavoidable. Because All Slang Goes Sour In A Short Time. I Only Use Swear Words, For Example, That Have Lasted At Least A Thousand Years For Fear Of Getting Stuff That Will Be Simply Timely And Then Go Sour.

Humility Is Not Disgraceful, And Carries No Loss Of True Pride.

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.

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

Do Not Worry. You Have Always Written Before And You Will Write Now.

Wearing Down Seven Number Two Pencils Is A Good Day's Work.

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

I Never Knew Of A Morning In Africa When I Woke That I Was Not Happy.

Paris Is So Very Beautiful That It Satisfies Something In You That Is Always Hungry In America.

Most People Never Listen.

All Stories, If Continued Far Enough, End In Death.

The Thing Is To Become A Master And In Your Old Age To Acquire The Courage To Do What Children Did When They Knew Nothing.

My Writing Is Nothing, My Boxing Is Everything.

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

Farewell To Arms

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

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.

I Am Like A Blind Pig When I Work.

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.

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