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Practice and improve writing style. Write like Ernest Hemingway

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Practice and improve your writing style below

Below, I have some random texts from popular authors. All you have to do is, spend some time daily, and type these lines in the box below. And, eventually, your brain picks the writing style, and your own writing style improves!

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“You’re an expatriate. You’ve lost touch with the soil. You get precious. Fake European standards have ruined you. You drink yourself to death. You become obsessed by sex. You spend all your time talking, not working. You are an expatriate, see? You hang around cafés.”

 

“I said something, Mike. Don’t you remember? About the steers.”

 

“It’s all one to me when we start,” Bill said. “The sooner the better.”

 

“I’m coming over some night. The Dingo. That’s the great place, isn’t it?”

 

Several times during the bull-fight I looked up at Mike and Brett and Cohn, with the glasses. They seemed to be all right. Brett did not look upset. All three were leaning forward on the concrete railing in front of them.

 

'I love you much more than before if it were possible.'

 

But they don't hang themselves, he thought. They just have to go on putting papers under other people's doors that do not even hate them. It must be quite a difficult trade being an ex-Fascist. Maybe he is not an ex-Fascist, too. How do you know.

 

He was addressing no one, except, perhaps, posterity.

 

'It cuts pretty thin for sharing,' the Colonel said. 'It's all yours, Daughter. And it's only the high-lights. You wouldn't understand the campaigns in detail, and few others would. Rommel might. But they always had him under wraps in France and, besides, we had destroyed his communications. The two tactical air-forces had; ours and the R.A.F. But I wish I could talk over certain things with him. I'd like to talk with him and with Ernst Udet.'

 

'In the meantime you might as well drink this. It is very good you know.'

 

"We must get a good killing lance and always have it on board. You can make the blade from a spring leaf from an old Ford. We can grind it in Guanabacoa. It should be sharp and not tempered so it will break. My knife broke."

 

"Now," he said. "I am still an old man. But I am not unarmed."

 

"Because he came here the most times," the old man said. "If Durocher had continued to come here each year your father would think him the greatest manager."

 

He was asleep when the boy looked in the door in the morning. It was blowing so hard that the drifting-boats would not be going out and the boy had slept late and then come to the old man's shack as he had come each morning. The boy saw that the old man was breathing and then he saw the old man's hands and he started to cry. He went out very quietly to go to bring some coffee and all the way down the road he was crying.

 

"I do not know," he said aloud. "I never had a bone spur."

 

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