Each day of not writing, of comfort, of being that which he despised, dulled his ability and softened his will to work so that, finally, he did no work at all.
Ernest HemingwayI love you for all that you are, all that you have been, all that you're yet to be.
Ernest HemingwayThis was the price you paid for sleeping together. This was the end of the trap. This was what people got for loving each other.
Ernest Hemingway