You get religion as your hair turns grey.

Bryl-cream, a little dab will do you.

There's a strange sense of pleasure being beat to hell by a storm when you're on a ship that is not going to sink.

We're just recycled history machines, cavemen in faded blue jeans.

I have never cared about setting world records, or filling my boat with fish, or, for that matter, even catching fish. I go for the experience of spending six hours in the arms of the ocean, never thinking of a single thing except chasing fish.

One of the inescapable encumbrances of leading an interesting life is that there have to be moments when you almost lose it.

While my mind is flexible, these brittle bones don't bend.