There was never an angler who lived but that there was a fish capable of taking the conceit out of him.
Before exulatation had vanished, I felt as if I had been granted a marvellous privilege. Out of the inscrutable waters a beautiful fish had somehow leaped to show me fleetingly the life and spirit of his element.
Men may rise on stepping stones of their dead selves to higher things.
Writing was like digging coal. I sweat blood. The spell is on me.
I hope I have found myself, my work, my happiness - under the light of the western skies.
Every once in a while I feel the tremendous force of the novel. But it does not stay with me.