Perhaps I should not have been a fisherman, he thought. But that was the thing that I was born for.

He had loved too much, demanded too much, and he wore it all out.

If the others heard me talking out loud they would think that I am crazy. But since I am not, I do not care.

I learned never to empty the well of my writing, but always to stop when there was still something there in the deep part of the well, and let it refill at night from the springs that fed it.

I kissed her hard and held her tight and tried to open her lips; they were closed tight.

Fish," the old man said. "Fish, you are going to have to die anyway. Do you have to kill me too?

There isn't any me. I'm you. Don't make up a separate me.