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: Past five minutes, I've watched you. I've watched you type pages and let them float into the wastebasket. Ernest Hemingway
: Never crumple pages. Always let them float gently into the basket. Ernest Hemingway
: Any writer who rips out his stuff and crumples it will go insane in a year, guaranteed.
: Writing's like mass. God gets mad if you don't show up.
: Hey, no snooping. Martha Gellhorn
: Come on, muses always snoop.
: Done by noon... drunk by 3:00. That's my philosophy.
: In this world, when you find a good place, you don't leave it.
: That woman loves humanity, but can't stand people.
: Writing, at its best, is a lonely life. Ernest Hemingway
: As a writer grows in public stature, he sheds his loneliness, and often his work deteriorates, for he does his work alone.
: And if he's a good enough writer, he must face eternity, or the lack of it, each day.
: Love is more infinitely durable than hate.
: So what do you do, sophisticated? Martha Gellhorn
: What do I do? Lately, I've been seeing the world. Ernest Hemingway
: How is the world?
: Let's see the review. Martha Gellhorn
: What? Ernest Hemingway
: Come, on Gellhorn. Every writer keeps one review. Martha Gellhorn
: Well, you can blame Mrs. Roosevelt. She encouraged me to write it.
: Well, in this joint, they don't drink to get drunk, they drink to stay drunk.
: You know how to make an entrance. Martha Gellhorn
: Why? Jealous? Ernest Hemingway
: All Cinderella had was a pumpkin. Martha Gellhorn
: Cinderella needs a drink.
: Happiness in intelligent people is the rarest thing I know.
: Gil Pender. Ernest Hemingway
: Hemingway. Gil
: Hemingway? Ernest Hemingway
: You liked my book? Gil
: Liked? I loved all of your work. Ernest Hemingway
: Yes. It was a good book because it was an honest book, and that's what war does to men. And there's nothing fine and noble about dying in the mud unless you die gracefully. And then it's not only noble but brave.
: 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.
: I'm a huge Mark Twain fan. I think you can make the case that all modern American literature comes from Huckleberry Finn. Ernest Hemingway
: Do you box? Gil
: No. Well... Not really, no.
: Would you read it? Ernest Hemingway
: Your novel? Gil
: Yeah, it's about 400 pages long, and I'm just looking for an opinion. Ernest Hemingway
: My opinion is I hate it. Gil
: Well you haven't even read it yet. Ernest Hemingway
: If it's bad, I'll hate it because I hate bad writing, and if it's good, I'll be envious and hate all the more. You don't want the opinion of another writer.
: You'll never be a great writer if you fear dying, do you? Gil
: Yeah, I do. I would say it's my greatest fear.
: Picasso only thinks that women are to sleep with, or to paint.
: I think a woman is equal to a man in courage. Have you ever shot a charging lion? Adriana
: Never. Ernest Hemingway
: Would you like to know how that feels? Adriana
: I don't think so. Ernest Hemingway
: You ever hunted? Adriana
: No. Ernest Hemingway
: You? Gil
: Only for bargains.
: I believe that love that is true and real, creates a respite from death. All cowardice comes from not loving or not loving well, which is the same thing. And then the man who is brave and true looks death squarely in the face, like some rhino-hunters I know or Belmonte, who is truly brave... It is because they make love with sufficient passion, to push death out of their minds... until it returns, as it does, to all men... and then you must make really good love again.
: Let's go! Ernest Hemingway
: One of these days I plan to steal you away from this genius
[points to Picasso
] Ernest Hemingway
: who's great... But... he's no Miro.
: Hi Mr. Hemingway. Ernest Hemingway
: The assignment was to take the hill. There were four of us, five if you counted Vicente, but he had lost his hand when a grenade went off and couldn't fight as could when I first met him. And he was young and brave, and the hill was soggy from days of rain. And it sloped down toward a road and there were many German soldiers on the road. And the idea was to aim for the first group, and if our aim was true we could delay them. Gil
: Were you scared? Ernest Hemingway
: Of what? Gil
: Of getting killed. Ernest Hemingway
: You'll never write well if you fear dying. Do you? Gil
: Yeah, I do. I'd say probably, might be my greatest fear actually. Ernest Hemingway
: It's something all men before you have done, all men will do. Gil
: I know, I know. Ernest Hemingway
: Have you ever made love to a truly great woman? Gil
: Actually, my fiancé is pretty sexy. Ernest Hemingway
: And when you make love to her you feel true and beautiful passion. And you for at least that moment lose your fear of death. Gil
: No, that doesn't happen. Ernest Hemingway
: I believe that love that is true and real creates a respite from death. All cowardice comes from not loving, or not loving well, which is the same thing. And when the man who is brave and true looks death squarely in the face like some rhino hunters I know, or Belmonte, who's truly brave. It is because they love with sufficient passion to push death out of their minds, until the return that it does to all men. And then you must make really good love again. Think about it.
: If you're a writer,
[slams fist on table
] Ernest Hemingway
: declare yourself the best writer. But your not, as long as I'm around, unless you want to put the gloves on and settle it.
: Hey, love is like war, Indy. To the victor go the spoils, huh? Hey you got to try some of this local drappa.
[pours them both a drink
] Ernest Hemingway
: It'll knock the enamel off your teeth. To love and war! Indiana Jones
: To love and war.
: [quite tipsy
] Spain is great. You're gonna love it. The wine is strong, the women are beautiful, and in Pamplone at fiesta time, they run the bulls right through the street.
] Ernest Hemingway
: Yeah, I gotta go there someday.
: Hm, ah! I got it! Indiana Jones
: What? Ernest Hemingway
: You write her a letter. I mean you write the greatest darn love letter that was ever written. Indiana Jones
: No, I can't write letters like that. Ernest Hemingway
: Come on, the heck you can! Indiana Jones
: No, the last letter I wrote was to Arabia. And it was to a guy.
: [about Giulietta
] Who ever she chooses gets her. Indiana Jones
: Yeah, and the loser butts out. Ernest Hemingway
: Oh, start booking your ticket, cream puffs! Indiana Jones
: Yeah, start packing your bags, you big ape!
: [shouting after Indy
] I hope your intestines rot in vinegar, huh! I hope ya dry up and schrivel apart, you hear me? I hope you roast in Hell!
: How are your legs? Ernest Hemingway
: Oh heh... well, apart from 227 holes and a ton of Austrian scrapnell, I'm dandy. At least so the doc says. Indiana Jones
: Well you got your medal. Ernest Hemingway
: Yeah. Indiana Jones
: First American to be wounded in Italy. Ernest Hemingway
: Yeah, I guess that's something
: [referring to Elliot Ness
] Where'd you get this cracker? Indiana Jones
: He came with the room.
: Hey, you look like a waiter. Indiana Jones
: I am a waiter. What are you doing here? Ernest Hemingway
: Oh, just trying to get a story, you know, put a patato on my plate. I'm at the Chicago Trib now.
: What about you, Sherlock? Eliot Ness
: I got a friend in my chemistry class, he works part time at the morgue. I'm sure he can help us. Ernest Hemingway
: Hm, you two much have a lotta laughs...
: [during car chase
] We're gonna run out of gas... Ernest Hemingway
: What? Eliot Ness
: I didn't fill her up, I was in too much of a hurry.
: Roses or Tulips? Indiana Jones
: Sir? Mr O'Bannion
: It's for a funeral. Which would you prefer, Mr Hemingway? Ernest Hemingway
: [deviant laugh
] Well I'm a sucker for daisies.
: You love me, you just don't know it yet.
: It won't work. Take a look. He's ancient. He must be close to 40.
: This is supposed to be a finale? Ernest Hemingway
: Listen fatso, if you don't shut up... Alexander Woollcott
: Sorry... Ernest Hemingway
: Thank you.