Собрание сочинений в пяти томах. Том 3. Пятая колонна. По ком звонит колокол. Рассказы. Очерки. Речи

"Give us the Catalan, gypsy."
"No."
"Yes. Yes. The Catalan."
"All right," the gypsy said and sang mournfully,
"My nose is flat.
"My face is black.
"But still I am a man."
"Ole!" some one said. "Go on, gypsy!"
The gypsy's voice rose tragically and mockingly.
"Thank God I am a Negro.
"And not a Catalan!"

"Coward," Pablo said bitterly. "You treat a man as coward because he has a tactical sense. Because he can see the results of an idiocy in advance. It is not cowardly to know what is foolish."
"Neither is it foolish to know what is cowardly," said Anselmo, unable to resist making the phrase.

"One called Agustin says he dies of boredom above," Robert Jordan said.
"That doesn't kill," Pablo said. "Let him die a little."

"You like to hunt?"
"Yes, man. More than anything. We all hunt in my village. You do not like to hunt?"
"No," said Robert Jordan. "I do not like to kill animals."
"With me it is the opposite," the old man said. "I do not like to kill men."

He was violating the second rule of the two rules for getting on well with people that speak Spanish; give the men tobacco and leave the women alone; and he realized, very suddenly, that he did not care.

"He catches rabbits," Anselmo said. "He is a gypsy. So if he catches rabbits he says it is foxes. If he catches a fox he would say it was an elephant."
"And if I catch an elephant?" the gypsy asked and showed his white teeth again and winked at Robert Jordan.
"You'd say it was a tank," Anselmo told him.
"I'll get a tank," the gypsy told him. "I will get a tank. And you can say it is what you please."

But I don't like that sadness, he thought. That sadness is bad. That's the sadness they get before they quit or before they betray. That is the sadness that comes before the sell-out.

Боишься ты смерти или нет, смириться с ней всё равно трудно.

Не обманывайся насчёт любви. Просто большинству людей не выпадает счастья любить... Всегда найдутся люди, которые скажут, что никакой любви не существует, потому что у них самих её никогда не было. Но я тебе скажу - существует, и у тебя она есть, и тебе повезло, даже если завтра предстоит умереть.

Каким простым всё кажется тому, кто ничего не знает.