“I'm getting as bored with dying as with everything else, he thought.'It's a bore,' he said out loud.'What is, my dear?''Anything you do too bloody long.”
In this quote by Ernest Hemingway, the protagonist expresses his frustration with the monotony of life. The use of the word "bore" conveys a sense of weariness and ennui towards the repetition and duration of experiences, including the act of dying. This existential observation illustrates Hemingway's theme of the disillusionment and disconnection that can occur when one feels trapped in a cycle of mundanity. It embodies a sentiment of resignation and apathy towards the inevitable aspects of life, symbolizing a deeper contemplation on the nature of mortality and the passage of time.
In this quote by Ernest Hemingway, the character expresses a sense of ennui and fatigue towards various aspects of life, including the monotony of dying. This sentiment of becoming bored with prolonged experiences can resonate with modern audiences who may feel overwhelmed by the demands of everyday life and the repetition of routine tasks. Hemingway's words serve as a reminder to seek out new experiences and avoid getting trapped in the cycle of monotony.
"I'm getting as bored with dying as with everything else, he thought.'It's a bore,' he said out loud.'What is, my dear?''Anything you do too bloody long.” - Ernest Hemingway
Reflecting on the above quote by Ernest Hemingway, consider the following questions:
“It's a bore," he said out loud."What is, my dear?""Anything you do too bloody long.”
“No, he thought, when everything you do, you do too long, and do too late, you can't expect to find the people still there. The people all are gone. The party's over and you are with your hostess now.I'm getting as bored with dying as with everything else, he thought.”
“But walking down the stairs feeling each stair carefully and holding to the banister he thought, I must get her away and get her away as soon as I can without hurting her. Because I am not doing too well at this. That I can promise you. But what else can you do? Nothing, he thought. There's nothing you can do. But maybe, as you go along, you will get good at it.”
“He had been contemptuous of those who wrecked. You did not have to like it because you understood it. He could beat anything, he thought, because no thing could hurt him if he did not care.All right. Now he would not care for death. One thing he had always dreaded was the pain. He could stand pain as well as any man, until it went on too long, and wore him out, but here he had something that had hurt frightfully and just when he had felt it breaking him, the pain had stopped.”
“It's this way, see--when a writer first starts out, he gets a big kick from the stuff he does, and the reader doesn't get any;then, after a while, the writer gets a little kick and the reader gets a little kick; and finally, if the writer's any good, he doesn't get any kick at all and the reader gets everything.”
“And bed, he thought. Bed is my friend. Just bed, he thought. Bed will be a great thing. It is easy when you are beaten, he thought. I never knew how easy it was. And what beat you, the thought.”