When did I stop being me?

I think there is just a vein of humanity that really loves animals and really loves to read about them.

I strain to hear, but my old ears, for all their obscene hugeness, pick up nothing but snippets.

When I first submerged my feet into frigid water, they hurt so badly I yanked them out again. I persisted, dunking them for longer and longer periods, until the cold finally blistered.

I stare at her for a long moment. I want to kiss her. I want to kiss her more than I've ever wanted anything in my life.

Sometimes I think that if I had to choose between an ear of corn or making love to a woman, I'd choose the corn. Not that I wouldn't love to have a final roll in the hay - I am a man yet, and something never die - but the thought of those sweet kernels bursting between my teeth sure sets my mouth to watering. It's fantasy, I know that. Neither will happen. I just like to weight the options, as though I were standing in front of Solomon: a final roll in the hay or an ear of corn. What a wonderful dilemma. Sometimes I substitute an apple for the corn.

Do you have any idea how much an elephant drinks?