You don't have to destroy me. Do you?

I rewrote the ending of 'Farewell to Arms' 39 times before I was satisfied.

No subject is terrible if the story is true, if the prose is clean and honest, and if it affirms courage and grace under pressure.

Dying was nothing and he had no picture of it nor fear of it in his mind. But living was a field of grain blowing in the wind on the side of a hill. Living was a hawk in the sky. Living was an earthen jar of water in the dust of the threshing with the grain flailed out and the chaff blowing. Living was a horse between your legs and a carbine under one leg and a hill and a valley and a stream with trees along it and the far side of the valley and the hills beyond.

Have faith in the Yankees my son. Think of the great DiMaggio.

I am glad we do not have to try to kill the stars.

I don’t. I don’t want anybody else to touch you. I’m silly. I get furious if they touch you.