I guess for me Hemingway is a lot like it is for others: he goes down well when we are young.

Few beautiful women were willing to indicate in public that they belonged to someone. I had known enough women to realize this. I accepted them for what they were and love came hard and very seldom. When it did it was usually for the wrong reasons. One simply became tired of holding back love and let it go because it needed some place to go. Then, usually, there was trouble.

A woman must be nursed into subsistence by love, where a man can become stronger by being hated." - from 'Cows in Art Class

That was the trouble with being a writer, that was the main trouble—leisure time, excessive leisure time. You had to wait around for the buildup until you could write and while you were waiting you went crazy, and while you were going crazy you drank and the more you drank the crazier you got.

I hated you when it would have taken less courage to love.

He had long nostril hairs, powerfully intimidating, like an unscheduled nightmare.

Even the stove and the refrigerator looked human, I mean good human - they seemed to have arms and voices and they said, hang around, kid, it's good here, it can be very good here.