Ernest Hemingway Books Novels & Stories

He returned his attention to the bookshelf at the rear of his office, the one he’d been browsing when he’d first heard the strange sounds outside, only being made by the cats, after all. The top shelf held purely “literary works.” Poetry collections of Blake, Yeats, Robert Frost, and Shakespeare. Prose collections of Zora Neal Hurston, Hemingway, Nathaniel Hawthorne, Flannery O’Connor, and folktales collected by the Brothers Grimm. Novels, from The Man in the Iron Mask to Madame Bovary, to Villette and Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte, to A Passage to India by E. M. Forster.

His eyes narrowed at me, and he scanned the corridor again before stepping back to leave enough space for me to enter inside and close the door behind us. Just like that night, his room was disgustingly neat. Hockey gear neatly stacked like he was about to take an inventory. Books lined up in a perfect row. And sitting open on his nightstand was a worn copy of Hemingway’s The Sun Also Rises. I tamped down on my laughter and the urge to tease Noah about his fondness for classic literature. As if reading my mind, he crossed his arms, all stiff and defensive. “What do you want?” he looked like a mouse caught in a trap and would attack me if I tried anything that went against his ‘straightness.’

he then motioned for the spot next to him and said, “Come sit,” I suddenly felt nervous to be so close to him, so I sat down but not right next to him, I gave us a little space in between. “What are you reading?” I tried to make small talk. “Hemingway,” he said as his eyes went to the book. His finger folded one of the page corners as if to mark it. “It’s for my English class,” he lifted the book slightly and I saw the title, it was The Sun Also Rises by Ernerst Hemingway.

“Okay, who is that person?” “Hemmingway. He is noted both for the intense masculinity of his writing and for his adventurous and widely publicized life. His succinct and lucid prose style exerted a powerful influence on American and British fiction in the 20th century. One of his famous book is The Old Man and the Sea—a novella written himself.” While I am continuously answering his question, I found his gaze and saw him staring intently at me as he waited for my next words. I bit my tongue, already distracted on the way he look at me so I look on my right only to see Rael, Nathan and Levi looking so proud at me. I lick my lower lip one more time as I continue what I was about to say earlier

Emma said, walking deep into the living room. "Thanks." She walked to a set of shelves on the far side of the room, running her fingers over the spines of his books. A lot of them were classics, novels by Dickens, Voltaire, Dumas, Melville, and Hemingway. She smiled when her fingers ran over the spine of not one, but three copies of Mitchell's Gone with the Wind. There were modern novels, too, including Stephen King and Sidney Sheldon, but they didn't look as well read as some of the others.

The stairs are to her right and she climbs them, leading to a small walkway that circles the room. Dragging her hand beside, she brushes the tips of her fingers against the paper-covered books. Each book on the shelf is wrapped in a thin, tan type of paper with the title and author written on the side. Bella reads the binding covers until she finds a book that stops her in her tracks. The book that just so happened to have been her mother's favorite book in the whole wide world. The Old Man And The Sea by Ernest Hemingway. Bella lifts the book, flipping open the cover. She flips to the first page and reads the first paragraph. The second paragraph had always been her favorite part of the boo

Her eyes widened and sparkled as she stared at it, unable to believe she was actually standing there. She cried out with childlike excitement, "Hemingway and Sartre used to sit here! I want to sit where they used to sit!" Her eyes shone with genuine passion. She loved the works of the two great writers. Ernest Hemingway, the American writer known for his simple, understated style and short, clear sentences, had always been one of her favorites. She admired his literature deeply and was particularly attached to his famous novel, A Farewell to Arms. As for the philosopher Sartre, the French existentialist philosopher, his ideas about freedom, responsibility, and the meaninglessness of life had

I had lost interest the moment I opened the first page, so how I was already on page fifty three was a mystery to me, because I couldn’t recall any of the words I had read. My assistant - who was coincidentally Isabella - knocked on my desk, spurring me out from my train of thought. “There’s someone here, looking for Hemingway.” “Check the H section in fiction. It should be there.” “And the author?” I held back the urge to roll my eyes. “Hemingway is the author. Ernest Hemingway.” “Oh.”

Probably a rebellious phase, but she was intriguing. I took her advice, I let Seyi be. Noah kept me company with a chess game. I taught him how to play, and after the third trial, he won me in every game. I started to get exasperated, amused and honestly impressed. This little boy with the one sided dimples was a genius!! I saw him reading the other day, Divinity and Logic by Stephen Hemmingway. Back on earth, Stephen King was a notable writer and Ernest Hemmingway was a writer beyond writing. The author of the book was in a reality I had no idea about, probably a rip off of both authors. But taking the book from Noah, I saw a few lines that made me realize exactly what it was.

I need to take time. I remember the small room I entered last time. I slowly opened the door and turned on the lampshade. The books on the table were still scattered. I tried to look and read each one of them. These are all interesting books. Into the Wild by Jon Krakauer, The Prince by Niccolo Machiavelli, The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald, and a lot more. I tried to find something that might help me, but I found nothing.