Ernest Hemingway
Ernest Hemingway
Ernest Miller Hemingwaywas an American novelist, short story writer, and journalist. His economical and understated style had a strong influence on 20th-century fiction, while his life of adventure and his public image influenced later generations. Hemingway produced most of his work between the mid-1920s and the mid-1950s, and won the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1954. He published seven novels, six short story collections, and two non-fiction works. Additional works, including three novels, four short story collections, and three non-fiction...
NationalityAmerican
ProfessionNovelist
Date of Birth21 July 1899
CityOak Park, IL
CountryUnited States of America
Anyone who says he wants to be a writer and isn't writing, doesn't.
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.
How did you go bankrupt?" Two ways. Gradually, then suddenly.
Dying is a very simple thing. I've looked at death and really I know. If I should have died it would have been very easy for me. Quite the easiest thing I ever did. But the people at home do not realize that. They suffer a thousand times more.
And who understands? Not me, because if I did I would forgive it all.
Some other places were not so good but maybe we were not so good when we were in them.
Anyone can be a fisherman in May.
Prose is architecture, not interior decoration, and the Baroque is over.
Go all the way with it. Do not back off. For once, go all the goddamn way with what matters.
Once writing has become your major vice and greatest pleasure only death can stop it.
As long as you can start, you are all right. The juice will come.
That is what we are supposed to do when we are at our best - make it all up - but make it up so truly that later it will happen that way.
The best writing is certainly when you are in love
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.