A writer judging his own work is like deceived husband - he is frequently the last person to appreciate the true state of affairs.

Most fisherman, including this one, cling to their pet stupidities as they would to a battered briar or an old jacket; and their dogged persistence in wrong methods and general wrong-headedness finally wins the a sort of grudging admiration, if not many fish.

One of the first rules in fishing is that there are few rules in fishing that resourceful trout do not manage to break.

I look at trees, hunt mushrooms, and watch animals. Fishing is what gets me out into the woods so I can notice these things.

Spinning yarns is a protection against the nuttiness... the greed, the hate all around us.

The true fisherman approaches the first day of fishing season with all the sense of wonder and awe of a child approaching Christmas.

I fish because I love to . . . because I love the environs where trout are found . . . because I suspect that men are going along this way for the last time, and I for one don’t want to waste the trip . . . and, finally, not because I regard fishing as being so terribly important but because I suspect that so many of the other concerns of men are equally unimportant––and not nearly so much fun.