The Hard Part About Writing A Novel

Keep Right On Lying To Me. That's What I Want You To Do.

This Was The Price You Paid For Sleeping Together. This Was The End Of The Trap. This Was What People Got For Loving Each Other.

Before You Quit, You Have To Try

When I Had Finished The Book I Knew That No Matter What Scott Did, Nor How He Behaved, I Must Know It Was Like A Sickness And Be Of Any Help I Could To Him And Try To Be A Good Friend. He Had Many Good, Good Friends, More Than Anyone I Knew. But I Enlisted As One More, Whether I Could Be Of Any Use To Him Or Not. If He Could Write A Book As Fine As The Great Gatsby I Was Sure That He Could Write An Even Better One. I Did Not Know Zelda Yet, And So I Did Not Know The Terrible Odds That Were Against Him. But We Were To Find Them Out Soon Enough.

The Great Artist When He Comes, Uses Everything That Has Been Discovered Or Known About His Art Up To That Point, Being Able To Accept Or Reject In A Time So Short It Seems That The Knowledge Was Born With Him, Rather Than That He Takes Instantly What It Takes The Ordinary Man A Lifetime To Know, And Then The Great Artist Goes Beyond What Has Been Done Or Known And Makes Something Of His Own.