Hemingway in Praise of F Scott Fitzgerald

Ernest Hemingway writes in A Moveable Feast,

His talent was as natural as the pattern that was made by the dust on a butterfly’s wings. At one time he understood it not more than the butterfly did and he did not know when it was brushed or marred. Later he became conscious of his damaged wings and of their construction and he learned to think and could not fly any more because the love of flight was gone and he could only remember it when it had been effortless.

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