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
Everything about him was old except his eyes and they were the same color as the sea and were cheerful and undefeated.
The house was built on the highest part of the narrow tongue of land between the harbor and the open sea. It had lasted through three hurricanes and it was built solid as a ship.
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?
Anglers have a way of romanticizing their battles with fish.
Before we take to the sea, we walk on land. . . Before we create, we must understand. . .
The sea is the same as it has been since before men ever went on it in boats.
Fish," he said, "I love you and respect you very much. But I will kill you dead before this day ends.
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.
Perhaps I should not have been a fisherman, he thought. But that was the thing that I was born for.
Why did they make birds so delicate and fine as those sea swallows when the ocean can be so cruel?
It was considered a virtue not to talk unnecessarily at sea...
The age demanded that we dance and jammed us into iron pants. And in the end the age was handed the sort of shit that it demanded.
The world is a fine place and worth fighting for.
You expected to be sad in the fall. Part of you dies each year when the leaves fell from the trees and their branches were bare against the wind and the cold, wintry 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 had died for no reason.