Death In The Morning – Ernest Hemingway (1899-1961)

“Death hung like an obsessive shadow over the life and work of Ernest Hemingway . . . He was once quoted as saying, ‘There is only one theme for a writer.  That is death and its temporary avoidance, life.'”  Oakland Tribune, July 3, 1961. ”  Fifty years ago, in the early morning at his Ketchum, Idaho ranch, Ernest Hemingway died by his own hand,   unable to anymore marshal the strength – mental or physical – to fight death to a draw . . . Please click “Read More” . . .

The dignity of movement of an ice-berg is due to  only one-eighth of it being above water. . . Death in the Afternoon (1932)

 From Big Two-Hearted River:

Ahead the river narrowed and went into a swamp. The river became smooth and deep and the swamp looked solid with cedar trees, their trunks close, their branches together. It would not be possible to walk through a swamp like that. The branches grew so low. You would have to keep almost level with the ground to move at all. You could not make your way through the branches. That must be why the animals that live in swamps are built the way they are, Nick thought.

He wished he had brqught something to read. He felt like reading. He did not feel like going on into the swamp. He looked down the river. A big cedar slanted all the way across the stream. Beyond that the river went into the swamp.

Nick did not want to go in there now. He felt a reaction against deep wading with the water deepening up under his armpits. He did not want to hook big trout in places impossible to land them. In the swamp the banks were bare, covered with cedar needles, the big cedars came together overhead, the sun did not come through except in patches. In the fast deep water in the half light the fishing would be tragic. In the swamp fishing was a tragic adventure. Nick did not want it. He did not want to go down the stream any further today.

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