Often a man wishes to be alone and a girl wishes to be alone too and if they love each other they are jealous of that in each other, but I can truly say we never felt that. We could feel alone when we were together, alone against the others. But we were never lonely and never afraid when we were together. (Ernest Hemingway, "A Farewell to Arms")
The professor at the boxing gymnasium wore mustaches and was very precise and jerky and went all to pieces if you started after him. (Ernest Hemingway, "A Farewell to Arms")
The questioners had that beautiful detachment and devotion to stern justice of men dealing in death without being in any danger of it. (Ernest Hemingway, "A Farewell to Arms")
There were many words that you could not stand to hear and finally only the names of places had dignity. Certain numbers were the same way and certain dates and these with the names of the places were all you could say and have them mean anything. Abstract words such as glory, honor, courage, or hallow were obscene beside the concrete names of villages, the numbers of roads, the names of rivers, the numbers of regiments and the dates. (Ernest Hemingway, "A Farewell to Arms")
This 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, "A Farewell to Arms")
When I saw her I was in love with her. Everything turned over inside of me. She looked toward the door, saw there was no one, then she sat on the side of the bed and leaned over and kissed me. (Ernest Hemingway, "A Farewell to Arms")
A girl came in the cafe and sat by herself at a table near the window. She was very pretty with a face fresh as a newly minted coin if they minted coins in smooth flesh with rain-freshened skin, and her hair black as a crow's wing and cut sharply and diagonally across her cheek. (Ernest Hemingway, "A Moveable Feast")
As I ate the oysters with their strong taste of the sea and their faint metallic taste that the cold white wine washed away, leaving only the sea taste and the succulent texture, and as I drank their cold liquid from each shell and washed it down with the crisp taste of the wine, I lost the empty feeling and began to be happy and to make plans. (Ernest Hemingway, "A Moveable Feast")