Ernest Hemingway quotes

You know it makes one feel rather good deciding not to be a bitch.

It’s sort of what we have instead of God.

The river looked nice. It was always pleasant crossing bridges in Paris.

Road to hell paved with unbought stuffed dogs. Not my fault.

“I was a fool to go away,” she said. “One’s an ass to leave Paris.”

You wouldn’t believe it. It’s like a wonderful nightmare.

I was a little ashamed, and regretted that I was such a rotten Catholic, but realized there was nothing I could do about it, at least for a while, and maybe never, but that anyway it was a grand religion, and I only wished I felt religious and maybe I would the next time.

Pedro Romero had the greatness. He loved bull-fighting, and I think he loved the bulls, and I think he loved Brett.

Listen. You’re a hell of a good guy, and I’m fonder of you than anybody on earth. I couldn’t tell you that in New York.

Romero had the old thing, the holding of his purity of line through the maximum of exposure, while he dominated the bull by making him realize he was unattainable, while he prepared him for the killing.

The three of us sat at the table, and it seemed as though about six people were missing.

“The Purple Land” is a very sinister book if read too late in life.

Brett was damned good-looking. She wore a slipover jersey sweater and a tweed skirt, and her hair was brushed back like a boy’s. She started all that.

This wine is too good for toast-drinking, my dear. You don’t want to mix emotions up with a wine like that. You lose the taste.

That is the secret. You must get to know the values.

Mean everything in the world to you after you bought it. Simple exchange of values. You give them money. They give you a stuffed dog.

Ought not to daunt you. Never be daunted. Secret of my success. Never been daunted. Never been daunted in public.

The river was dark and a bateau mouche went by, all bright with lights, going fast and quiet up and out of sight under the bridge. Down the river was Notre Dame squatting against the night sky.

You couldn’t see the sea. It was too far away. You could see only hills and more hills, and you knew where the sea was.

I was enjoying it. It was lousy to enjoy it, but I felt lousy. Cohn had a wonderful quality of bringing out the worst in anybody.

“It would be like betting on the war,” I said. “You don’t need any economic interest.”

Nobody that ever left their own country ever wrote anything worth printing. Not even in the newspapers.

You ought to be ironical the minute you get out of bed. You ought to wake up with your mouth full of pity.

Aficion means passion. An aficionado is one who is passionate about the bull-fights.

That was morality; things that made you disgusted afterward. No, that must be immorality.