What makes life worth living? Better surely, to yield to the stain of suicide blood in me and seek forgetfulness in the embrace of cold dark death.
There was never an angler who lived but that there was a fish capable of taking the conceit out of him.
What is writing but an expression of my own life?
I need this wild life, this freedom.
I love my work but do not know how I write it.
A good rule of angling philosophy is not to interfere with any fishermans ways of being happy, unless you want to be hated.