I saw him on the cover of Life magazine and heard about the wars he covered bravely and other feats –
the world-class fishing, the big-game hunting in Africa, the drinking enough to
embalm a man twice his size. The myth he was
creating out of his own life was big enough to take it for a time –
but under this, I
knew he was still
lost. That he slept with the light on or couldn’t
sleep at all, that he
feared death so much he
sought it out wherever and however he could. He was
such an enigma,
really- fine and strong and weak and cruel. An
incomparable friend
and a son of a bitch. In the end, there wasn’t one thing
about him that was truer than the rest. It was all true.
Paula McLain
The Paris Wife
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