“His talent was as natural as the pattern that was made by the dust on a butterflys wings. At one time he understood it no 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 when it had been effortless.” - Ernest Hemingway, A Moveable Feast
Posted on: Mon, 28 Oct 2013 04:53:05 +0000
Trending Topics
Recently Viewed Topics
© 2015