He rested sitting on the un-stepped mast and sail and tried not to think but only to endure.
He lay flat on the brown, pine-needled floor of the forest, his chin on his folded arms, and high overhead the wind blew in the tops of the pine trees. The mountainside sloped gently where he lay; but...
He had loved too much, demanded too much, and he wore it all out.
He had always known what I did not know and what, when I learned it, I was always able to forget. But I did not know that then, although I learned it later.
He grinned with his hat on the back of his head. He looked more like a Broadway character of the Nineties than the lovely painter that he was, and afterwards, when he had hanged himself, I liked to re...
He felt as though he were hailing a ship.
He did not say that because he knew that if you said a good thing it might not happen.
He did not care for the lying at first. He hated it. Then later he had come to like it. It was part of being an insider but it was a very corrupting business.
He bowed at the dark, straightened, tossed his hat over his shoulder, and, carrying the muleta in his left hand and the sword in his right, walked out toward the bull.
Go all the way with it. Do not back off. For once, go all the goddamn way with what matters.
For three years I looked forward very childishly to the war ending at Christmas. But now I look forward till when our son will be a lieutenant commander.
For him it was a dark passage which led to nowhere, then to nowhere, then again to nowhere, once again to nowhere, always and forever to nowhere, heavy on the elbows in the earth to nowhere, dark, nev...
For her everything was red, orange, gold-red from the sun on the closed eyes, and it all was that color, all of it, the filling, the possessing, the having, all of that color, all in a blindness of th...
For a poet he threw a very accurate milk bottle.
Every day is a new day. It is better to be lucky. But I would rather be exact. Then when luck comes you are ready.
Do you suppose it will always go on?No.What's to stop it?It will crack somewhere.
Do you know how an ugly woman feels? Do you know what it is to be ugly all your life and inside to feel that you are beautiful? It is very rare.
But Paris was a very old city and we were young and nothing was simple there.
But Paris was a very old city and we were young and nothing was simple there, not even poverty, nor sudden money, nor the moonlight, nor right and wrong nor the breathing of someone who lay beside you...
Blow, blow, ye western wind . . . Christ, that my love were in my arms and I in my bed again. That my love Catherine. That my sweet love Catherine down might rain. Blow her again to me.