A Quote by Jack Hemingway

I was proud of Papa for his sports. — © Jack Hemingway
I was proud of Papa for his sports.
To this day I cannot see a bright daffodil, a proud gladiola, or a smooth eggplant without thinking of Papa. Like his plants and trees, I grew up as a part of his garden.
Michael Phelps is a sporting god among men. It is hard to say if anyone will ever match his accomplishments, but it has been an honor to see him become a legend. He makes me proud of the American sports institution and proud of the sports that get mass attention only every four years.
Papa was a man with silver eyes, not dead ones. Papa was an accordion! But his bellows were all empty. Nothing went in and nothing came out.
Papa didn't cuss, he didn't raise a whole lot of fuss. But when we did wrong, Papa beat the hell out of us.
Papa sat with me tonight. He brought the accordion down and sat close to where Max used to sit. I often look at his fingers and face when he plays. the accordion breathes. There are lines on his cheeks. They look drawn on, and for some reason, when I see them, I want to cry. It is not for any sadness or pride. I just like the way they move and change. Sometimes I think my papa is an accordion. When he looks at me and smiles and breathes, I hear the notes.
I could never be a sports writer, unless my assignment was to write 'sports sports sports sports sports' for three pages.
My day-old son is plenty scrawny, his mouth is wide with screams, or yawny; His ears seem larger than he's needing, His nose is flat, his chin's receding. His skin is very, very red, He has no hair upon his head, And yet I'm proud as proud can be, To hear you say he looks like me.
I'm just a proud papa and it's nice to get that validation from my colleagues in the industry. You get up, you pull your pants down and you're like, "Here it is!"
Why did Mama say that? Had Papa made her angry again? He made her angry a lot. Gran said it was on account of his "hores." One time Celia asked Nurse what a hore was, and Nurse paddled her and told her that was a bad word. Then why did Papa have them?
He was just hungry, Papa. He's going to die. He's going to die anyway. He's so scared, Papa. The man squatted and looked at him. I'm scared, he said. Do you understand? I'm scared. The boy didn't answer. He just sat there with his head down, sobbing. You're not the one who has to worry about everything. The boy said something but he couldn't understand him. What? He said. He looked up, his wet and grimy face. Yes I am, he said. I am the one.
My mother, along with Papa's other eventual wives - Pauline, Marty Gelhorn, Mary Welch - they all, at one time or another, no matter how angry they were at him at the moment, said, 'Look, Papa is special. He writes so beautifully. We have to let this go on.'
Why is it every careerist tries to turn his mother into a Madonna--to prove his intellect is a virgin birth, papa had nothing to do with it? It's the sign of the misogynist.
Sports are an acceptable way for men to show emotion. A guy who won't hug his kid will slip a guy a tongue in a sports bar when his team wins.
Papa had some amazing qualities. He was a very spiritual person. He was very passionate about his work. He was a completely self-made man. At the same time, his generosity and kindness were two aspects of him that really defined his personality.
Papa is a very chilled out person. He was very supportive from the beginning. I think Papa helped ease Mama into the idea of me acting. He told her that she seems passionate about it. He was very cool about it.
Was his life nothing? Had he nothing to show, no work? He did not count his work, anyone could have done it. What had he known, but the long, marital embrace with his wife. Curious, that this was what his life amounted to! At any rate, it was something, it was eternal. He would say so to anybody, and be proud of it. He lay with his wife in his arms, and she was still his fulfillment, just the same as ever. And that was the be-all and the end-all. Yes, and he was proud of it.
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