“Bly was a body set in constant motion, a force that knew no barrier, and he inevitably left the world changed in his wake. Even when he sat, he tapped his foot, scratched at his face, or puffed on a cigar like a locomotive. He paced insistently and ruffled his fingers through his hair habitually.

Then there were the laugh lines around the outer corners of his eyes and lips, caused by years of jest, not necessarily from happiness. Bly always seemed to be making a mockery of the world and its subsequent opinion of his person. He dared everything in his path to challenge him. That was how he lived his life—charging after it with an undying fierceness as if the flame within him would never extinguish.”