Alfred Hayes





Alfred Hayes

Author profile


born
in London, The United Kingdom
April 18, 1911

died
August 14, 1985

gender
male

genre


About this author

Alfred Hayes (18 April 1911 – 14 August 1985) was a British screenwriter, television writer, novelist, and poet, who worked in Italy and the United States. He is perhaps best known for his poem "Joe Hill" ("I dreamed I saw Joe Hill last night…"), later set to music by Earl Robinson.
Born in London, Hayes graduated from New York's City College (now part of City University of New York), worked briefly as a newspaper reporter, and began writing fiction and poetry in the 1930s. During World War II he served in Europe in the U.S. Army Special Services (the "morale division"). Afterwards, he stayed in Rome and became a screenwriter of Italian neorealist films. As a co-writer on Roberto Rossellini's Paisan (1946), he was nominated for an Academy Aw...more


Average rating: 3.98 · 344 ratings · 78 reviews · 8 distinct works · Similar authors
In Love
4.15 of 5 stars 4.15 avg rating — 194 ratings — published 1958 — 9 editions
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My Face for the World to See
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3.86 of 5 stars 3.86 avg rating — 116 ratings — published 1958 — 6 editions
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The Girl on the Via Flaminia
3.46 of 5 stars 3.46 avg rating — 35 ratings — published 1957 — 7 editions
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Mi perdicion
4.5 of 5 stars 4.50 avg rating — 2 ratings — published 2013
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The End Of Me
4.5 of 5 stars 4.50 avg rating — 2 ratings — published 1968
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Mi perdición
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4.0 of 5 stars 4.00 avg rating — 1 rating — published 2013
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The Stockbroker, The Bitter...
2.0 of 5 stars 2.00 avg rating — 1 rating
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David Westren
0.0 of 5 stars 0.00 avg rating — 0 ratings — published 1888 — 2 editions
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Boris Godunov
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3.84 of 5 stars 3.84 avg rating — 591 ratings — published 1391 — 46 editions
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More books by Alfred Hayes…
“We go from disappointment to disappointment, from hope to denial, from expectation to surrender, as we grow older, thinking or coming to think that what was wrong was the wanting, so intense it hurt us, and believing or coming to believe that hope was our mistake and expectation our error, and that everything the more we want it the more difficult the having it seems to be.”
Alfred Hayes, In Love

“Your only vice is yourself. The worst of all. The really incurable one.”
Alfred Hayes, In Love

“There were times when I would forget her, though they were rare, and it would be for a time as though she had never existed; and then some passing girl's inadvertent gesture, or an accidental profile, or a hat like hers, would restore her, and restore the suffering too, and I would long again, somehow, to encounter or to see her.”
Alfred Hayes, In Love

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