Ernest Hemingway citations

Page 13

“Laissons le croire que je suis plus homme que moi et je le serai alors.”

“Faites toujours sobre ce que vous avez dit que vous feriez quand vous étiez ivre. Cela vous apprendra à vous taire !”

“Il n'y a rien de noble à être supérieur à son prochain; la vraie noblesse est d'être supérieur à votre ancien moi.”

“Nous avons bien mangé pour pas trop cher, et nous avons bien bu pour pas trop cher et nous avons dormi bien au chaud ensemble et nous nous sommes aimés.”

“Un homme intelligent est parfois forcé d'être ivre pour passer du temps avec ses imbéciles.”

“Nul homme n’est une île en soi. Nous faisons tous partie d’un continent et chaque fois que tu entends sonner le glas, ne demande pas pour qui il sonne, il sonne pour toi."
--Ernest Hemingway, “Pour qui sonne le glas”?”

“Grace under pressure.”

“Dans la vie, il faut [d'abord] durer.”

“Le lendemain matin, le gamin entr'ouvrit la porte et passa la tête. Le vieux dormait toujours. Le temps était trop mauvais pour que les bateaux pussent sortir; aussi le gamin avait-il dormi tard. Comme les matins précédents, il était venu. D'abord, il s'assura que le vieux respirait. Ensuite il vit les mains et pleura. Sans bruit il sortit et courut chercher du café. Il pleurait en dévalant la côte.”

“Comme apparence, il avait un des visages les plus laids qu'on puisse trouver hors d'une cage à singes, un corps assez bien, mûr, mais aux jointures plutôt épaisses, et l'air content de soi d'un acteur en vogue.”

“La mort est un remède souverain à toutes les infortunes.”

“C'est en voyant la femelle du taureau de combat qu'on saisit le plus clairement la différence entre l'animal sauvage et l'animal domestique.”

“On était à présent dans la saison des ouragans; quand il n'y a pas d'ouragan en train, c'est le plus beau temps de l'année.”

“Ça m'empêchera pas de le tuer, dit-il; tout superbe et formidable qu'il soit.”

“C'est seulement par sa conduite sous la pique que l'on peut juger et apprécier la bravoure d'un taureau; et la bravoure c'est la racine du taureau espagnol.”

“Les premières étoiles se montraient. […] bientôt toutes ses amies lointaines parsèmeraient le ciel. - Le poisson aussi est mon ami, dit-il tout haut. […] Pourtant faut que je le tue. Heureusement qu'on est pas obligé de tuer les étoiles!”

“Dans tous les arts, le plaisir croît avec la connaissance que l'on a d'eux.”

“Dans la cabane, là-bas, tout en haut, le vieux s'était rendormi. Il gisait toujours sur le ventre. Le gamin, assis à côté de lui, le regardait dormir. Le vieux rêvait de lions.”

“No. Rien à faire. Rien. Faut pas penser. Faut accepter.”

“Si vous avez la chance d’avoir vécu jeune homme à Paris, où que vous alliez pour le reste de votre vie, cela ne vous quitte pas, car Paris est une fête.”

“Le pis c'est quand vous êtes séparé d'un ami par l'esprit.”

“Tu sais, Papa, que les femmes pleurent comme les enfants pissent?”

“Tu es ma religion. Tu es tout ce que j'ai.”

“Voulez-vous s'il vous plaît s'il vous plaît s'il vous plaît s'il vous plaît s'il vous plaît s'il vous plaît s'il vous plaît s'il vous plaît arrêter de parler?”

“Pound est fou. Tous les poètes le sont…. Ils doivent l'être.”

“Écrivez avec force et avec clarté ce qui fait mal.”

“Non, c'est le grand sophisme: la sagesse des vieillards. Ils ne deviennent pas sages. Ils deviennent prudents.”

“However you make your living is where your talent lies.”

“A bottle of wine was good company.”

“We have come out of the time when obedience, the acceptance of discipline, intelligent courage and resolution were most important, into that more difficult time when it is a man's duty to understand his world rather than simply fight for it.”

“I was so sentimental about you I'd break any one's heart for you. My, I was a damned fool. I broke my own heart, too. It's broken and gone. Everything I believe in and everything I cared about I left for you because you were so wonderful and you loved me so much that love was all that mattered. Love was the greatest thing, wasn't it? Love was what we had that no one else had or could ever have? And you were a genius and I was your whole life. I was your partner and your little black flower. Slop. Love is just another dirty lie. Love is ergoapiol pills to make me come around because you were afraid to have a baby. Love is that quinine and quinine and quinine until I'm deaf with it. Love is that dirty aborting horror that you took me to. Love is my insides all messed up. Its half atheters and half whirling douches. I know about love. Love always hangs up behind the bathroom door. It smells like Lysol. To hell with love. Love is you making me happy and then going off to sleep with your mouth open while I lie awake all night afraid to say my prayers even because I know I have no right to any more. Love is all the dirty little tricks you taught me that you probably got out of some book. All right. I'm through with you and I'm through with love. Your kind of picknose love.”

“Every day above earth is a good day.”

“Eschew the monumental. Shun the Epic. All the guys who can paint great big pictures can paint great small ones.”

“Age is my alarm clock,” the old man said. “Why do old men wake so early? Is it to have one longer day?”
“I don’t know,” the boy said. “All I know is that young boys sleep late and hard.”

“It was strange going back to Spain again: I had never expected to be allowed to return to the country that I loved more than any other except my own and I would not return so long as any of my friends there were in jail. But in the spring of 1953 in Cuba I talked with good friends who had fought on opposing sides in the Spanish Civil War about stopping in Spain on our way to Africa and they agreed that I might honorably return to Spain if I did not recant anything that I had written and kept my mouth shut on politics. There was no question of applying for a visa. They were no longer required for American tourists.”

“Then I started to think in Lipp's about when I had first been able to write a story about losing everything. It was up in Cortina d'Ampezzo when I had come back to join Hadley there after the spring skiing which I had to interrupt to go on assignment to Rhineland and the Ruhr. It was a very simple story called "Out of Season" and I had omitted the real end of it which was that the old man hanged himself. This was omitted on my new theory that you could omit anything if you knew that you omitted and the omitted part would strengthen the story and make people feel something more than they understood.”

“We had spoken about death without being morbid about it and I had told Antonio what I thought about it which is worthless since none of us knows anything about it.”

“Fortunately I have never learned to take the good advice I give myself nor the counsel of my fears.”

“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.”

“Get it straight. Your boy you lose. Love you lose. Honor has been gone for a long time. Duty you do.
Sure and what's your duty? What I said I'd do. And all the other things you said you'd do?”

“All our words from loose using have lost their edge.”

“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.”

“Keep your head clear and know how to suffer like a man. Or a fish, he thought.”

“I wonder what your idea of heaven would be — A beautiful vacuum filled with wealthy monogamists. All powerful and members of the best families all drinking themselves to death. And hell would probably an ugly vacuum full of poor polygamists unable to obtain booze or with chronic stomach disorders that they called secret sorrows.”

“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.”

“You make your own luck, Gig. You know what makes a good loser? Practice.”

“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 by the Masai "Ngàje Ngài," the House of God. Close to the western summit there is the dried and frozen carcass of a leopard. No one has explained what the leopard was seeking at that altitude.”

“The faces that were young once were old as mine but everyone remembered how we were. The eyes had not changed and nobody was fat. No mouths were bitter no matter what the eyes had seen. Bitter lines around the mouth are the first sign of defeat. Nobody was defeated.”

“But are there not many Fascists in your country?'
'There are many who do not know they are Fascists, but will find it out when the time comes'.”

“The best sky was in Italy and Spain and northern Michigan in the fall and in the fall in the Gulf off Cuba.”

“All a man has is pride. Sometimes you have it so much it is a sin. We have all done things for pride that we knew were impossible. We didn't care. But a man must implement his pride with intelligence and care.”

“Hesitation increases in relation to risk in equal proportion to age.”

“Yogi Johnson stood looking out of the window of a big pump-factory in Michigan. Spring would soon be here. Could it be that what this writing fellow Hutchinson had said, 'If winter comes, can spring be far behind?' would be true again this year? Yogi Johnson wondered.”

“Having books published is very destructive to writing. It is even worse than making love too much. Because when you make love too much at least you get a damned clarte that is like no other light. A very clear and hollow light.”

“In going where you have to go, and doing what you have to do, and seeing what you have to see, you dull and blunt the instrument you write with. But I would rather have it bent and dulled and know I had to put it on the grindstone again and hammer it into shape and put a whetstone to it, and know that I had something to write about, than to have it bright and shining and nothing to say, or smooth and well oiled in the closet, but unused.”

“If a writer of prose knows enough about what he is writing about he may omit things that he knows, and the reader, if the writer is writing truly enough, will have a feeling of those things as strongly as though the writer had stated them. The dignity of movement of an iceberg is due to only one-eighth of it being above water. A writer who omits things only because he does not know them only makes hollow places in his writing.”