(...) It is fruitless to wish that he had devoted himself to these strenghts and been less prone to distraction and extravagance. He had almost every gift that a great writer requires except the belief that writing is of supreme importance. (...) writing was never an end in itself. (...) However wrong it may be to compare a man's life to a work of art, the comparison is difficult to avoid in the case of Compton Mackenzie. In the quixotic, extravagant performance of his own life he achieved his real masterpiece.
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