Brisbane Quotes

It is possible to be in love with you just because of who you are.

Grace,” I said, very softly. “Say something.” Sam,” she said, and I crushed her to me.

I fell for her in summer, my lovely summer girl, From summer she is made, my lovely summer girl, I’d love to spend a winter with my lovely summer girl, But I’m never warm enough for my lovely summer girl, It’s summer when she smiles, I’m laughing like a child, It’s the summer of our lives; we’ll contain it for a while She holds the heat, the breeze of summer in the circle of her hand I’d be happy with this summer if it’s all we ever had.

Sam: “You—you greatly overestimate my self-control.” Grace: “I’m not looking for self-control.

One thousand ways to say good-bye One thousands ways to cry One thousand ways to hang your hat before you go outside I say good-bye good-bye good-bye I shout it out so loud Cause the next time that I find my voice I might not remember how.

To say that I met Nicholas Brisbane over my husband's dead body is not entirely accurate. Edward, it should be noted, was still twitching upon the floor.

Come on," Cole said. He looked back over his shoulder at Mr. Brisbane, who was looking at me with a complicated expression as I left. Cole pointed at him and said, "You're a son of a bitch. He belongs here more than you do.

To Grace, these were the things that mattered: my hands on her cheeks, my lips on her mouth. The fleeting touches that meant I loved her.

Once upon a time, there was a girl named Grace Brisbane. There was nothing particularly special about her, except that she was good with numbers, and very good at lying, and she made her home in between the pages of books. She loved all the wolves behind her house, but she love one of them most of all.

I folded myself against her body, breathing in the smell of my new life and matching my heartbeat to hers" Sam, Linger

Afterward, Isabel drove me home and I shut myself in the study with Rilke, and I read and I wanted. And leaving you (there arent words to untangle it) Your life, fearful and immense and blossoming, So that, sometimes frustrated, and sometimes understanding Your life is sometimes a stone in you, and then, a star I was beginning to undertand poetry.

And leaving you (there aren't words to untangle it) Your life, fearful and immense and blossoming, so that, sometimes frustrated, and sometimes understanding, Your life is sometimes a stone in you, and then, a star.

Or even tell me it's because you could not live without The Boy's stunning Boyfruits for another night..." Sam's face was twisted into a weird shape at the mention of his Boyfruits.

She loved all the wolves behind her house, but she loved one of them most of all. And this one loved her back. He loved her back so hard that even the things that weren't special about her became special: the way she tapped her pencil on her teeth, the off-key songs she sang in the shower, how when she kissed him he knew it meant for ever. Hers was a memory made up of snapshots: being dragged through the snow by a pack of wolves, first kiss tasting of oranges, saying goodbye behind a cracked windshield. A life made up of promises of what could be: the possibilities contained in a stack of college applications, the thrill of sleeping under a strange roof, the future that lay in Sam's smile. It was a life I didn't want to leave behind. It was a life I didn't want to forget. I wasn't done with it yet. There was so much more to say.

He slouched back in his seat, looking tired, and leaned his face on his shoulder to look at me while he played with my hair. He started to hum a song, and then, after a few bars, he sang it. Quietly, sort of half-sung, half-spoken, incredibly gentle. I didn’t catch all the words, but it was about his summer girl. Me. Maybe his forever girl. His yellow eyes were half-lidded as he sang, and in that golden moment, hanging taut in the middle of an icecovered landscape like a single bubble of summer nectar, I could see how my life could be stretched out in front of me.

Counter Girl (in candy shop): You two are cute. Seriously. How long have you been going out? Sam: Six years.

He'd only been gone two seconds, but the room got brighter when they were together, as if they were two elements that became brilliant in proximity. At Sam's clumsy efforts to carry the vacuum, Grace smiled a new smile that I thought only he ever got, and he shot her a withering look full of the sort of subtext you could only get from a lot of conversations whispered after dark. It made me think of Isabel, back at her house. We didn't have what Sam and Grace had. We weren't even close to having it. I didn't think what we had could get to this, even if you gave it a thousand years.

I started down but Sam caught my arm and knelt down himself to look. "For crying out loud," he said. "It's a racoon." "Poor thing," I said. "It could be a rabid baby-killer," Cole told me primly. "Shut up," Sam said pleasantly.

Again and Again, however, we know the language of love, and the little churchyard with its lamenting names and the staggeringly secret abyss in which others find their end: again and again the two of us go out under the ancient trees, make our bed again and again between the flowers, face to face with the skies

I wasn’t sure if I was charmed by his reluctance to share a bed with a girl or insulted that, apparently, I wasn’t hot enough for him to charge the mattress like a bull.

You look like a puppy. Like I'm jingling my keys and you're jumping by the door waiting for your walk" "Woof.

Do you feel better?” I asked Sam as he opened the door to the Volkswagen for me. “Yes,” he said. He was still a terrible liar. “Good,” I said. I was still a fantastic one.

holding tight, denying the fact that eventually we all had to let go.

I’m a cold-hearted bastard. I’m insular, I’m jaded, a workaholic, I’m ruthless and I’m self-serving. I don’t do forever, I rarely even do “I’ll call you tomorrow”. And just because I’m here now it does not mean if you ask me to stay I will.

Shouldn't you be looking at other cars? You know, car shopping usually involves ... shopping." "I don't shop very well", Grace said. "I just see what I need and get it.

Once upon a time, there was a girl named Grace Brisbane. There was nothing particularly special about her, except that she was good with numbers, and very good at lying, and she made her home in between the pages of books. She loved all the wolves behind her house, but she loved one of them most of all. And this one loved her back. He loved her back so hard that even the things that weren’t special about her became special: the way she tapped her pencil on her teeth, the off-key songs she sang in the shower, how when she kissed him he knew it meant forever.

Can I ask you a question?" "You already have." He paused, considering. "Can I ask you two questions, then?" "You already have." Sam groaned and threw one of the small sofa pillows in my direction. It arced through the moonlit room, a blackened projectile, and thumped harmlessly by my head. "So you're a smart-ass, then.

Can I ask you a question?" "You already have." He paused, considering. "Can I ask you two questions, then?" "You already have.

Sam reached his hand toward mine and I automatically put my fingers in his. With a guilty little smile he pulled my hand toward his nose and took a sniff and then another one. His smile widened though it was still shy. It was absolutely adorable and my breath got caught somewhere in my throat.

You are curious and quick, you have a deft mind, and for some unaccountable reason, people tell you things -- useful things.

What do you mean? Grace Brisbane, you do not mean that you're not going back home again. Tell me that this was just because you were momentarily angry at them for grounding you. Or even tell me it's because you could not live without The Boy's stunning Boyfruits for another night. But don't tell me you think it's forever!

They have different accents in America " Brisbane smiled. "Just as we do here." I waved a hand. "They all sound alike to me.

Brisbane is so sleepy, so slatternly, so sprawlingly unlovely… It is simply the most ordinary place in the world…It was so shabby and makeshift … a place where poetry could never occur.

I think-I need to ask an embarrassing question. Do you think I could borrow a pair of scrubs? I-uh-my pants-" "Oh!" Cried the poor nurse. "Yes. Absolutely. I'll be right back." [...] "Thanks," I mumbled. "I'll just change here. He's not looking at anything at the moment." I gestured toward Sam, who was looking convincingly sedated. The nurse vanished through the curtains. Sam eye's flashed open again, distinctly amused. He whispered, "Did you just tell that man you went potty on yourself?" "You.Shut.UP." I hissed back furiously.

They worked hard all their lives, what they basically did was, they built a little Ukraine, a little society for themselves here in Brisbane. They did this in all the cities … not a ghetto, it wasn’t inward looking to that extent, but it was inward looking in the sense that it was a place to go—somewhere where you could identify; where you could be understood; go about remembering and preserving your roots. - Walter Sucharsky, 2nd Generation Australian

Did you mean what you said? You will pursue this?' Brisbane sipped at his tea. 'I suppose. I have a few other matters that I must bring to conclusion, but nothing that cannot wait. And I have no other clients questioning either my integrity or my courage at present.

Now don’t go thinking nice things about me. You’ll only be disappointed.

I might grow old in Brisbane, but I would never grow up.

If you don't hit a newspaper reader between the eyes with your first sentence, there is no need of writing a second one.

I matched my heated tone with one of pure ice. "I believe I did attempt to relate to you the facts of my calls and you interrupted me with a rather magnificent display of temper much as you are doing now. If you do not have all the facts of the case perhaps you have no one but yourself to blame." Brisbane opened his mouth and shut it with a snap. His mouth remained closed but I could hear him muttering under his breath. "What are you saying?" "I am counting. To one hundred. In Cantonese.

Are you going to say anything?" Brisbane crossed one leg lazily over the other flicking an imaginary piece of lint from his trousers. "I think he is doing quite well without me." "I did not mean for you to help him I meant for you to defend me," I said huffing slightly in my indignation.

...I'd felt dread about how average and suburban Brisbane seemed. The normalcy was stifling and that I yearned for bigger things, that I missed New York.

My non American viewers. Who understand that the world does not consist solely of a single nation sailing across an infinite sea of migrant workers. Will no doubt have heard that the waters surrounding Brisbane got tired of waiting for people to hit the beach and decided to bring the party to us.

Brisbane put one in mind of wolves and lithe jungle cats, while Edward conjured images of seraphim and slim young saints. It required an entirely different aesthetic altogether to appreciate Brisbane, one that I lacked. Entirely.

Adult men. Fucking adult men. Nutters, all of them. Can’t be trusted. Fucking sickos. Freaks. Killers. What was this man’s road to becoming Batman on a side street of inner-city Brisbane? How much good was in him? How much bad? Who was his father? What did his father do? What did his father not do? In what ways did other adult men fuck his life up?

He pushed my back against the stall door, kissing me. Edward had tried kissing me, but I'd been so shocked I'd barely had time to explore how it felt. Lucy had told me stories of shady corners and sweaty palms. But this was passionate. Wild. Something I'd never known. "Have you kissed a girl before?" I whispered. He ran his thumb over my cheek. His eyes lingered on my lips. "Yes," he said. I thought of Alice, her pretty blonde hair, the split lip that made her so vulnerable. But it wasn't her name he said. "A woman at the docks in Brisbane. She didn't mean anything. I was lonely. It wasn't love." A prostitute, he meant.

Trust was now a four-letter word.

There Rhoda sits staring at the blackboard,' said Louis, 'in the schoolroom, while we ramble off, picking here a bit of thyme, pinching here a leaf of southernwood while Bernard tells a story. Her shoulder-blades meet across her back like the wings of a small butterfly. And as she stares at the chalk figures, her mind lodges in those white circles, it steps through those white loops into emptiness, alone. They have no meaning for her. She has no answer for them. She has no body as the others have. And I, who speak with an Australian accent, whose father is a banker in Brisbane, do not fear her as I fear the others.

Honestly, if I stay on this gruelling path, I'm going to end up as another suicide statistic.

I found it hard to get motivated because I found it hard to care.

Yeah, he’s just a huge flirt. He flirted with me, every female reporter within eyeshot, some of the men, and a pot plant on the way into his office. It’s pathological.

I sat down and put my fingertips to my temples, rubbing hard. “We have one fallen tree, one destroyed Rookery, one delusional butler and no good brandy. Is that what you are telling me?” “And the cook’s down with piles and more than half the staff are suffering from catarrh,” she added maliciously. I looked to Brisbane, who was smiling broadly. “God bless us, everyone,” he said, spreading his arms wide.

By the time I had gathered my wits sufficiently to press the point the lamps had guttered out and Brisbane was sleeping heavily fatigued by his effortshighly successful efforts I must confessto divert me from the investigation. I lay awake physically satisfied but deeply annoyed. Even after nine months of marriage I was still not entirely comfortable with my responses to his physical overtures. The merest touch from him and all reasonable though seemed to fly out of my head. It was most disconcerting and more so because he apparently knew it I thought irritable.

Jane, who is much better at reading guide books than I am (I always read them on the way back to see what I missed, it’s often quite a shock), discovered something wonderful in the book she was reading. Did I know, she asked, that Brisbane was originally founded as a penal colony for convicts who committed new offences after they had arrived in Australia ? I spent a good half hour enjoying this single piece of information. It was wonderful. There we British sat, poor grey sodden creatures, huddling under our grey northern sky that seeped like a rancid dish cloth, busy sending those we wished to punish most severely to sit in bright sunlight on the coast of the Tasman Sea at the southern tip of the Great Barrier Reef and maybe do some surfing too. No wonder the Australians have a particular kind of smile that they reserve exclusively for use on the British.

Five minutes later and the three of us are pushing through the heavy, swinging doors of the Brisbane Watchhouse. A place that at six on a Tuesday evening looks like Little Nimbin - we're the only ones wearing shoes. 'Remind me what we're here to get - you know, apart from head lice and maybe tinea?' I say to no one in particular. - Cat

Time passed, and they resented the defects no longer. The defects had not been remedied, but the human tissues in that latter day had become so subservient, that they readily adapted themselves to every caprice of the Machine. The sigh at the crises of the Brisbane symphony no longer irritated Vashti; she accepted it as part of the melody. The jarring noise, whether in the head or in the wall, was no longer resented by her friend. And so with the mouldy artificial fruit, so with the bath water that began to stink, so with the defective rhymes that the poetry machine had taken to emit. All were bitterly complained of at first, and then acquiesced in and forgotten. Things went from bad to worse unchallenged.

The acceptance of just one person is enough to silence the rejection of thousands.

The dictionary is the only place where success comes before work!

We fiction writers have to preserve the right to wear many hats – including sombreros.

Because of Warhol, we were no longer freaks, outside society. It's really partly because of Warhol that I can now get angry when people treat me as an outsider, as in Brisbane char Nicholas Zurbrugg, "tattooed and pierced," because of Warhol (to begin with) I don't even have to think to reply, if you think chat, you're the freak. I am society as much as you.

The situation was saved; Brisbane was going to tell a story.

Yo no he dicho eso. Tiene usted el don de sacar el peor significado posible de mis palabras. Nicholas Brisbane

If I’m right,’ she said, ‘and you have all sorts of juicy information in that dossier of yours, you’ll know that I am an abnormally forgiving person, even of those who have used me and hurt me more than one person deserves to be hurt. But right this second, I am looking forward to the day you rot in hell.

I wore no jewels save the pendant Brisbane had given me with its secret code—the code that had given me my first inkling that he loved me. It had not been so very long since he had given it to me, a year only; twelve leaves of the calendar torn away, a few dozen weeks from then to now. But how much change that year had wrought!

I realised I got anxious because my true aspiration wasn't to become the chief of a multi-billion dollar, multi-national company that created widgets or some shit.

Time is wasted on the young and experience is wasted on the old.

Even freedom needs some rules to keep it from being complete chaos.

If you're not happy with yourself, how can you even begin to figure out if another person makes you happy, annoyed, angry, sad and so on.

This is your chance. Are you going to cower and make excuses or are you going to do what you really want to do?

You live by whatever rules you need to govern your life the best you think. Let's just try not to encroach.

I think the last thing you should do to someone willing to put your penis in their mouth is give them criticism.

A misadventurer's greatest fear is their mother.

Hubbard’s stint in Queensland is better characterised as overbearing, overzealous and over too soon. Hubbard would end up portraying himself as a war hero who helped save Australia from the Japanese. His arrival, his stay and his departure would all become subject of Scientology mythmaking. But the truth is that Hubbard was sent home from Brisbane in disgrace. When

A lemon tree was nearly universal; other trees varied with climate - almond trees in Adelaide and Perth, plums and apples in Melbourne, choke vines and bananas in Sydney and Brisbane, a mango in Cairns, figs and loquats everywhere. For a few weeks, there was a gross overabundance of fruit and much trading ('I'll take some of your plums if you take some of my apples next month').

Brisbane continued. “I have led a selfish life, and I have enjoyed it. I cannot imagine a life without my work, and I cannot imagine a life without you, and yet I cannot reconcile the two.” My heart, which had given a joyous leap in the middle of his speech, faltered now as I realised what he was trying to say. “I never thought to ask you to give up your work,” I began. “But how can I ask you to sit idly by and wait for me to return when every time I kiss you goodbye might be the last?” “Oh, don’t!” I told him, fully enraged. “How dare you blame your cowardice upon me?” His lips went white, as did the tiny crescent moon scar high upon his cheekbone. “I beg your pardon?” “Cowardice,” I said distinctly. “You hide behind this pretence of fine feeling because you will not declare yourself directly and this gives you a perfect excuse, does it not? Spare poor Julia the horror of being widowed a second time. Put her up on the shelf and keep her out of harm’s way whilst you amuse yourself with your dashing adventures.” He opened his mouth to speak, but I stepped forward, tipping my head up to rail at him. “I am quite disappointed that you have revealed yourself to be so thoroughly conventional in your philosophy. Have I not proven myself a capable partner?” I demanded. “Have I not stood, side by side, with you, facing peril with equal courage? If you thought for a moment that I would be the meek, quiet, obedient sort of woman who would sit quietly at home mending your socks while you get to venture out into the world on your daring escapades, you have sorely mistaken me.” I turned on my heel and left him then, gaping after me like a landed carp. It was a very small consolation.

What's yer name?" he demanded. The girl searched for a name. "Stella," she said at last, because she had the stars at her fingertips and she had been studying maps of the sky and she was someone else now, not the girl she had been in Ballarat where her grandfather had pointed out the planets and named them, and not the girl she had been in Melbourne, and she certainly didn't want to be the girl she was at her Brisbane school. She was reinventing herself. "No it's not," the boy said. "You're new. Where're ya from?" "I'm Stella," she said stubbornly. "I'm from the moon. You wanna look?

For the first time in ten years, the March family gathered to perform the Twelfth Night Revels for the village of Blessingstoke, just as they had done in Master Shakespeare’s day. The dragon breathed fire while the Turkish Knight brandished his sword at St. George, and when it was finished, the resurrected saint and his sad dragon stood in tableau while the white-robed chorus, of which Portia and I made two, sang of the blood-berried holly and the sweetly clinging ivy. Rather like Brisbane and myself, I thought fancifully. Both evergreen and hardy, one sturdy, one tenacious, and forever undivided. But now there was a new little branch grafted to our union.

We were flying to Brisbane via Kuala Lumpur, a journey of around fifteen hours, including the brief transit stop. Australia was a long way from anywhere yet modern aviation had made travel so convenient and affordable that no one really thought of it as difficult or hazardous anymore. Today’s travel woes centered around overcoming jet lag or figuring out your duty-free limits. I tried to imagine life in the eighteenth century when the First Fleet made the long and arduous sea voyage from Great Britain. The aviation industry was non-existent at that time, steam-powered ships were still decades away and the sailing vessels that arrived in 1788 took over a hundred days to reach Sydney.

The red haired waitress arrived with their drinks, dancing about the table as she placed their orders in front of them. "Hiya, keeds. Peachy place, ain't it?" Before anyone could respond, she kicked her heels in the air and flitted off again. Waldo lit up a cigarette and tasted his drink. "Listen, I don't think we ought to stay here very long...." "No shit, Sherlock!" Brisbane chortled. "But first I want to have a little fun. I think I'm gonna talk to some of these guys." The fredneck left the table and walked over to a group of five men, all of them clad in the old baseball uniforms that were apparently quite popular at The One Year Wonder And All-Around Oddity Bar. They were huddled together on one side of the bar, and Brisbane broke into their conversation with a burst of fredneck chutzpah.

I blinked at her. She was as composed as a mediaeval saint, wearing an expression of Eastern inscrutability. “Yes, child. The less you and I discuss about that particular episode, the better. Ask me again when you’re about to be married, and then we shall have a frank discussion.” “I shan’t marry,” she informed me coolly. “Never?” “Never. I mean to find some purposeful work. A husband would get in my way.” She was serious as the grave, but I knew better than to smile. “Perhaps you will. But life has a habit of changing your mind for you. Still, better you put that remarkable brain of yours to good use than feed it nothing more demanding than flower-arranging and playing the piano. Unless those are particular passions of yours,” I added hastily. She rolled her eyes. “I loathe music, and flowers make me sneeze.” “There you go. I was never very good at the feminine accomplishments, either.” “Perhaps it’s a family failing,” she suggested kindly. ----- "That is a perfectly exceptional child,” Brisbane said when she was gone. “I think she must be what you were like as a little girl.” “I was never so—” I began. But then I thought about Perdita. A little odd, mistress of her own interests, curious, with a penchant for speaking her mind. “Yes, I suppose rather.” He smiled and put down his cup. He slapped his thighs, and I went to him, sliding onto his lap, my head fitting comfortably into the hollow of his neck. “I am very happy you are mine,” I told him. Brisbane produced his customary phrase for such occasions. “Show me.” And so I did.

—Ahora lo entiendo —dije, con la voz amortiguada contra su hombro—. Lo entiendo de verdad. —¿Entender qué? —Lo que se siente al ver que la persona que más quieres en el mundo está en peligro. Antes no lo sabía de verdad. Y al ver a Felicity apuntándote al corazón con la pistola, de repente me sentí una estúpida por no haberlo sabido. —¿Saber qué? —Lo salvaje que es. No tiene nada de razonable ni de lógico. Tenías razón al decir que pierdes el control en lo que se refiere a mí. Yo no podía controlar lo que iba a hacer. Provoqué la explosión porque no podía pensar en otra cosa que en salvarte. No pensé en lo peligroso que era para mí y para los demás. En ese momento solo me importabas tú. Solo tú. Y habría hecho cualquier cosa por salvarte. Habría pagado cualquier precio, habría cometido cualquier pecado, habría vendido mi alma con tal de salvarte.

Plum’s handsome mouth curved into a smile. “Oh, yes. It’s slipped your mind, dearest, but the year is 1889—and that means Twelfth Night falls in 1890.” I buried my face in my hands. “No.” Brisbane stirred himself. “What is the significance of 1890?” I peeped over my fingertips. “The Twelfth Night mummers’ play. Every year the villagers put on a traditional mummers’ play.” Brisbane groaned. “Not one of those absurdities with St. George and the dragon?” “The very same.” I exchanged glances with Plum. His smile sharpened as he picked up the story. “I am sure Julia told you Shakespeare once stayed as a guest of the Marches at Bellmont Abbey. There was apparently a quarrel that ended with the earl’s wife throwing Shakespeare’s only copy of the play he was writing into the fire. They patched things up, and—” “And to demonstrate he bore no ill will, Shakespeare himself wrote our mummers’ play,” I finished. “Once every decade, instead of the villagers of Blessingstoke performing the traditional play, the family perform the Shakespearean version for the local folk.” “Every ten years,” Brisbane said, his black brows arched thoughtfully. “Yes. The men in the family act out the parts and the women are a sort of chorus, robed in white and singing in the background.” “It is great fun, really,” Plum put in. “Father always plays the king who sends St. George to kill the dragon and the rest of the parts always seem to go to the same people. Except for St. George. That one always falls to the newest male to marry into the family.” I busied myself with tearing a muffin to bits while Plum’s words registered with Brisbane. “Absolutely not.” I turned to him. “But dearest, it is tradition.” “I am not an enthusiast of tradition.

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—¿Qué ocurre? ¿Es que te da miedo que pierda el control? Deja que te hable del control, esposa mía. He pensado mucho en él durante estos últimos meses, ¿y sabes a qué conclusión he llegado? A que es una ilusión. Durante toda mi vida me he enorgullecido de tener el control. Ha sido lo único constante durante mi precaria existencia. Me ocurriera lo que me ocurriera, yo tenía la capacidad de ejercer el dominio sobre mí mismo. Reprimía las visiones porque podía hacerlo. Era lo único que tenía. Yo abrí la boca, pero él no me permitió decir nada y continuó hablando con la voz tensa de emoción. —Lo único que tenía era el control, y ahora lo estoy perdiendo, ¿lo entiendes? El día de nuestra boda prometí que te protegería, y después te prometí, como un idiota, que te dejaría participar en mi trabajo. Pensaba que podría hacerlo, que podría controlar el miedo que siento por ti, el terror que siento por si te ocurre algo, pero no puedo. No puedo dominarlo del mismo modo que no puedo dominar lo que me ocurre cuando llegan las visiones. Me he pasado toda la vida manteniendo a raya estas emociones, y ahora resulta que la lógica y el control, mis únicos amigos en este mundo, me han abandonado. Construí mi vida y mi carrera profesional basándome en ellos, y me han dejado cuando más los necesitaba.

Then, just as we were to leave on a whirlwind honeymoon in the beautiful Pacific Northwest, a call came from Australia. Steve’s friend John Stainton had word that a big croc had been frequenting areas too close to civilization, and someone had been taking potshots at him. “It’s a big one, Stevo, maybe fourteen or fifteen feet,” John said over the phone. “I hate to catch you right at this moment, but they’re going to kill him unless he gets relocated.” John was one of Australia’s award-winning documentary filmmakers. He and Steve had met in the late 1980s, when Steve would help John shoot commercials that required a zoo animal like a lizard or a turtle. But their friendship did not really take off until 1990, when an Australian beer company hired John to film a tricky shot involving a crocodile. He called Steve. “They want a bloke to toss a coldie to another bloke, but a croc comes out of the water and snatches at it. The guy grabs the beer right in front of the croc’s jaws. You think that’s doable?” “Sure, mate, no problem at all,” Steve said with his usual confidence. “Only one thing, it has to be my hand in front of the croc.” John agreed. He journeyed up to the zoo to film the commercial. It was the first time he had seen Steve on his own turf, and he was impressed. He was even more impressed when the croc shoot went off flawlessly. Monty, the saltwater crocodile, lay partially submerged in his pool. An actor fetched a coldie from the esky and tossed it toward Steve. As Steve’s hand went above Monty’s head, the crocodile lunged upward in a food response. On film it looked like the croc was about to snatch the can--which Steve caught right in front of his jaws. John was extremely impressed. As he left the zoo after completing the commercial shoot, Steve gave him a collection of VHS tapes. Steve had shot the videotapes himself. The raw footage came from Steve simply propping his camera in a tree, or jamming it into the mud, and filming himself single-handedly catching crocs. John watched the tapes when he got home to Brisbane. He told me later that what he saw was unbelievable. “It was three hours of captivating film and I watched it straight through, twice,” John recalled to me. “It was Steve. The camera loved him.” He rang up his contacts in television and explained that he had a hot property. The programmers couldn’t use Steve’s original VHS footage, but one of them had a better idea. He gave John the green light to shoot his own documentary of Steve. That led to John Stainton’s call to Oregon on the eve of our honeymoon. “I know it’s not the best timing, mate,” John said, “but we could take a crew and film a documentary of you rescuing this crocodile.” Steve turned to me. Honeymoon or crocodile? For him, it wasn’t much of a quandary. But what about me?” “Let’s go,” I replied.

I liked learning but the challenge was that my mother's need to turn education into a competition was ruining the experience for me.

Too much negativity can make the strongest structures dilapidate.

I found that disturbing the night's calm ambience was almost as gratifying as the ambience itself.

Maybe I should have given more thought to her thoughts.

Self-harm appealed to my sadness but I didn't let it coax me.

Would I come off as a creepy-stalker-kind-of-guy or would it demonstrate that I cared?

Misadventure was my primary compass and I followed it without caring if I pissed off one person or a whole bunch of people.

It was a start, and a start is all anyone needs to put an end to something.

It was my duty as a mother to invade your privacy and search your room. I'm just glad you weren't hiding an illegal drug.

In a world of differing opinions, mentally unstable people and complete psychopaths, it was the type of simplistic notion that some people wouldn't want to follow or ignorance would just simply not allow them to understand.

It was an impossible achievement but that didn't stop me from trying and having fun.

People give up. People settle. People persevere. And you can do all three if you're smart enough.

They were queen bitches and it seemed everyone and everything they knew and everyone and everything they didn't know deserved some kind of criticism.

The stretch of Bruce Highway between Gin Gin and Miriam Vale was long and lonesome.