Catching The Big Fish Quotes

Ideas are like fish. If you want to catch little fish, you can stay in the shallow water. But if you want to catch the big fish, you’ve got to go deeper. Down deep, the fish are more powerful and more pure.They’re huge and abstract. And they’re very beautiful.

They say when you meet the love of your life, time stops, and that's true. What they don't tell you is that when it starts again, it moves extra fast to catch up.

Keep your eye on the doughnut, not on the hole.

Chin up. There are other fish in the sea. It's a big ocean. Sometimes we need to catch and release a few before we find the keeper.

Don’t fight the darkness. Don’t even worry about the darkness. Turn on the light and the darkness goes. Turn up that light of pure consciousness: Negativity goes.

If you want to get one hour of good painting in, you have to have four hours of uninterrupted time.

You can understand conflict, but you don'thave to live in it.

Eraserhead is my most spiritual movie. No one understands when I say that, but it is.

The beautiful thing is that when you catch one fish that you love, even if it’s a little fish—a fragment of an idea—that fish will draw in other fish, and they’ll hook onto it. Then you’re on your way. Soon there are more and more and more fragments, and the whole thing emerges. But it starts with desire.

Intuition is seeing the solution.....its emotion and intellect going together.

We all want expanded consciousness and bliss. It's a natural, human desire. And a lot of people look for it in drugs. But the problem is that the body, the physiology, takes a hard hit on drugs. Drugs injure the nervous system, so they just make it harder to get those experiences on your own. I have smoked marijuana, but I no longer do. I went to art school in the 1960s, so you can imagine what was going on. Yet my friends were the ones who said, "No, no, no, David, don't you take those drugs." I was pretty lucky. Besides, far more profound experiences are available naturally. When your consciousness stars expanding, those experiences are there. All those things can be seen. It's just a matter of expanding that ball of consciousness. And the ball of consciousness can expand to be infinite and unbounded. It's totality. You can have totality. So all those experiences are there for you, without the side effects of drugs.

Right here people might bring up Vincent van Gogh as an example of a painter who did great work in spite of—or because of—his suffering. I like to think that van Gogh would have been even more prolific and even greater if he wasn’t so restricted by the things tormenting him. I don’t think it was pain that made him so great—I think his painting brought him whatever happiness he had.

We catched fish, and talked, and we took a swim now and then to keep off sleepiness. It was kind of solemn, drifting down the big still river, laying on our backs looking up at the stars, and we didn’t ever feel like talking loud, and it warn’t often that we laughed, only a kind of low chuckle. We had mighty good weather, as a general thing, and nothing ever happened to us at all, that night, nor the next, nor the next.

There’s a safety in thinking in a diner. You can have your coffee or your milk shake, and you can go off into strange dark areas, and always come back to the safety of the diner.

This idea comes to you, you can see it, but to accomplish it you need what I call a "setup." For example, you may need a working shop or a working painting studio. You may beed a working music studio. Or a computer room where you can write something. It's crucial to have a setup, so that, at any given moment, when you get an idea, you have the place and the tools to make it happen. If you don't have a setup, there are many times when you get the inspiration, the idea, but you have no tools, no place to put it together. And the idea just sits there and festers. Overtime, it will go away. You didn't filfill it--and that's just a heartache.

When you see an aging or a rusted bridge, you are seeing nature and man working together. If you paint over a building there is no more magic to that building. But if it is allowed to age, then man has built it and nature has added into it — it’s so organic.

It's the pool where we all go down to drink, to swim, to catch a little fish from the edge of the shore; it's also the pool where some hardy souls go out in their flimsy wooden boats after the big ones. It is the pool of life, the cup of imagination, and she has an idea that different people see different versions of it, but with two things ever in common: it's always about a mile deep in the Fairy Forest, and it's always sad. Because imagination isn't the only thing this place is about.

Stay true to yourself. Let your voice ring out, and don’t let anybody fiddle with it. Never turn down a good idea, but never take a bad idea. And meditate.

I love going into another world, and I love mysteries. So I don't really like to know very much ahead of time. I like the feeling of dicovery.

Life is filled with abstractions, and the only way we make heads or tails of it is through intuition. Intuition is seeing the solution—seeing it, knowing it. It’s emotion and intellect going together. That’s essential for the filmmaker.

But if you know that you’ve got to be somewhere in half an hour, there’s no way you can achieve that. So the art life means a freedom to have time for the good things to happen. There’s not always a lot of time for other things.

I was doing something that had become a pattern in my life, and I thought, Well I should go talk to a psychiatrist. When I got into the room, I asked him, 'Do you think that this process could, in any way, damage my creativity?', And he said ´Well, David, I have to be honest; it could´ And I shook his hand and left.

The thing about meditation is: You become more and more you.

Cinema is a language. It can say things—big, abstract things. And I love that about it. I’m not always good with words. Some people are poets and have a beautiful way of saying things with words. But cinema is its own language. And with it you can say so many things, because you’ve got time and sequences. You’ve got dialogue. You’ve got music. You’ve got sound effects. You have so many tools. And you can express a feeling and a thought that can’t be conveyed any other way. Its a magical medium. For me, it’s so beautiful to think about these pictures and sounds flowing together in time and in sequence, making something that can be done only through cinema. Its not just words or music-it’s a whole range of elements coming together and making something that didn’t exist before. It’s telling stories. It’s devising a world, an experience, that people cannot have unless they see that film. When I catch an idea for a film, I fall in love with the way cinema can express it. I like a story that holds abstractions, and that’s what cinema can do.

I don't necessarily love rotting bodies, but there's a texture to a rotting body that is unbelievable. Have you ever seen a little rotted animal? I love looking at those things, just as much as I like to look at a close-up of some tree bark, or a small bug, or a cup of coffee, or a piece of pie. You get in close and the textures are wonderful.

He whose happiness is within, whose contentment is within, whose light is all within, that yogi, being one with Brahman, attains eternal freedom in divine consciousness. BHAGAVAD-GITA

Desire for an idea is like bait. When you're fishing, you have to have patience. You bait your hook, and then you wait.The desire is the bait that pulls those fish in—those ideas. The beautiful thing is that when you catch one fish that you love, even if it's a little fish—a fragment of an idea—that fish will draw in other fish, and they'll hook onto it. Then you're on your way. Soon there are more and more and more fragments, and the whole thing emerges. But it starts with desire.

And it should be fun. In work and in life, we’re all supposed to get along. We’re supposed to have so much fun, like puppy dogs with our tails wagging. It’s supposed to be great living; it’s supposed to be fantastic.

I love the French. They’re the biggest film buffs and protectors of cinema in the world. They really look out for the filmmaker and the rights of the filmmaker, and they believe in final cut.

I went to a psychiatrist once. I was doing something that had become a pattern in my life, and I thought, Well, I should go talk to a psychiatrist. When I got into the room, l asked him, "Do you think that this process could, in any way, damage my creativity?" And he said, "Well, David, I have to be honest: it could." And I shook his hand and left.

The sea is full of saints. You know that? You know that: you're a big boy. The sea's full of saints and it's been full of saints for years. Since longer than anything. Saints were there before there were even gods. They were waiting for them, and they're still there now. Saints eat fish and shellfish. Some of them catch jellyfish and some of them eat rubbish. Some saints eat anything they can find. They hide under rocks; they turn themselves inside out: they spit up spirals. There's nothing saints don't do. Make this shape with your hands. Like that. Move your fingers. There, you made a saint. Look out, here come another one! Now they're fighting! Yours won. There aren't any big corkscrew saints anymore, but there are still ones like sacks and ones like coils, and ones like robes with flapping sleeves. What's your favourite saint? I'll tell you mine. But wait a minute, first, do you know what it is makes them all saints? They're all a holy family, they're all cousins. Of each other, and of ... you know what else they're cousins of? That's right. Of gods. Alright now. Who was it made you? You know what to say. Who made you?

Don’t even think about it. You’ll never catch that big fish with your small hook.

Stay true to yourself. Let your voice ring out, and don’t let anybody fiddle with it.

Never turn down a good idea, but never take a bad idea. And meditate. It’s very important to experience that Self, that pure consciousness. It’s really helped me. I think it would help any filmmaker. So start diving within, enlivening that bliss consciousness. Grow in happiness and intuition. Experience the joy of doing. And you’ll glow in this peaceful way. Your friends will be very, very happy with you. Everyone will want to sit next to you. And people will give you money!

Inside every human being is an ocean of pure, vibrant consciousness. When you “transcend” in Transcendental Meditation, you dive down into that ocean of pure consciousness. You splash into it. And it’s bliss. You can vibrate with this bliss. Experiencing pure consciousness enlivens it, expands it. It starts to unfold and grow. If you have a golf-ball-sized consciousness, when you read a book, you’ll have a golf-ball-sized understanding; when you look out a window, a golf-ball-sized awareness; when you wake up in the morning, a golf-ball-sized wakefulness; and as you go about your day, a golf-ball-sized inner happiness. But if you can expand that consciousness, make it grow, then when you read that book, you’ll have more understanding; when you look out, more awareness; when you wake up, more wakefulness; and as you go about your day, more inner happiness. You can catch ideas at a deeper level. And creativity really flows. It makes life more like a fantastic game.

... we [can] catch fish and just throw them back... it [doesn't] seem to hurt the fish much past a cut lip. But then... one [may] swallow the hook...[it'd be] a goner, whether we tried to pull it out or just cut the line. Because once you've swallowed the hook, there's no losing it. Me, I've swallowed it big time.

I used to go to Bob's Big Boy restaurant just about every day from the mid-seventies until the early eighties. I'd have a milk shake and sit and think. There's a safety in thinking in a diner. You can have your coffee or your milk shake, and you can go off into strange dark areas, and always come back to the safety of the diner.

The idea is the whole thing. If you stay true to the idea, it tells you everything you need to know, really. You just keep working to make it look like that idea looked, feel like it felt, sound like it sounded, and be the way it was.

Looking for bad bonds inside a CDO was like fishing for crap in a Port-O-Let: The question wasn’t whether you’d catch some but how quickly you’d be satisfied you’d caught enough.


Leaving your dreams and living someone's dreams is like dipping a pole into a pool to catch a weaver bird alive! It doesn't work that way... Pursue what God sent you for!

Catching your big dream, touching it by hand is not an easy thing like catching fish, you have to give your years, not hours or whole day!

Sitting in front of a fire is mesmerizing. It's magical. I feel the same way about electricity. And smoke. And flickering lights.

Ideas are like fish. If you want to catch little fish, you can stay in the shallow water. But if you want to catch the big fish, you’ve got to go deeper.

Eraserhead is my most spiritual movie. No one understands when I say that, but it is. Eraserhead was growing in a certain way, and I didn’t know what it meant. I was looking for a key to unlock what these sequences were saying. Of course, I understood some of it; but I didn’t know the thing that just pulled it all together. And it was a struggle. So I got out my Bible and I started reading. And one day, I read a sentence. And I closed the Bible, because that was it; that was it. And then I saw the thing as a whole. And it fulfilled this vision for me, 100 percent. I don’t think I’ll ever say what that sentence was.

Then he says, “I once read a story about three brothers who washed up on an island in Hawaii. A myth. An old one. I read it when I was a kid, so I probably don’t have the story exactly right, but it goes something like this. Three brothers went out fishing and got caught in a storm. They drifted on the ocean for a long time until they washed up on the shore of an uninhabited island. It was a beautiful island with coconuts growing there and tons of fruit on the trees, and a big, high mountain in the middle. The night they got there, a god appeared in their dreams and said, ‘A little farther down the shore, you will find three big, round boulders. I want each of you to push his boulder as far as he likes. The place you stop pushing your boulder is where you will live. The higher you go, the more of the world you will be able to see from your home. It’s entirely up to you how far you want to push your boulder.’” The young man takes a drink of water and pauses for a moment. Mari looks bored, but she is clearly listening. “Okay so far?” he asks. Mari nods. “Want to hear the rest? If you’re not interested, I can stop.” “If it’s not too long.” “No, it’s not too long. It’s a pretty simple story.” He takes another sip of water and continues with his story. “So the three brothers found three boulders on the shore just as the god had said they would. And they started pushing them along as the god told them to. Now these were huge, heavy boulders, so rolling them was hard, and pushing them up an incline took an enormous effort. The youngest brother quit first. He said, ‘Brothers, this place is good enough for me. It’s close to the shore, and I can catch fish. It has everything I need to go on living. I don’t mind if I can’t see that much of the world from here.’ His two elder brothers pressed on, but when they were midway up the mountain, the second brother quit. He said, ‘Brother, this place is good enough for me. There is plenty of fruit here. It has everything I need to go on living. I don’t mind if I can’t see that much of the world from here.’ The eldest brother continued walking up the mountain. The trail grew increasingly narrow and steep, but he did not quit. He had great powers of perseverance, and he wanted to see as much of the world as he possibly could, so he kept rolling the boulder with all his might. He went on for months, hardly eating or drinking, until he had rolled the boulder to the very peak of the high mountain. There he stopped and surveyed the world. Now he could see more of the world than anyone. This was the place he would live—where no grass grew, where no birds flew. For water, he could only lick the ice and frost. For food, he could only gnaw on moss. Be he had no regrets, because now he could look out over the whole world. And so, even today, his great, round boulder is perched on the peak of that mountain on an island in Hawaii. That’s how the story goes.

The strength of a balancing feedback loop is important relative to the impact it is designed to correct. If the impact increases in strength, the feedbacks have to be strengthened too. A thermostat system may work fine on a cold winter day—but open all the windows and its corrective power is no match for the temperature change imposed on the system. Democracy works better without the brainwashing power of centralized mass communications. Traditional controls on fishing were sufficient until sonar spotting and drift nets and other technologies made it possible for a few actors to catch the last fish. The power of big industry calls for the power of big government to hold it in check; a global economy makes global regulations necessary.

It would be great if the entire film came all at once. But it comes, for me, in fragments... In Blue Velvet, it was red lips, green lawns, and the song—Bobby Vinton’s version of ‘Blue Velvet.’ The next thing was an ear lying in a field. And that was it.

Cinema is a language. It can say things—big, abstract things. And I love that about it. I’m not always good with words. Some people are poets and have a beautiful way of saying things with words. But cinema is its own language. And with it you can say so many things, because you’ve got time and sequences. You’ve got dialogue. You’ve got music. You’ve got sound effects. You have so many tools. And you can express a feeling and a thought that can’t be conveyed any other way. It's a magical medium. For me, it’s so beautiful to think about these pictures and sounds flowing together in time and in sequence, making something that can be done only through cinema. It's not just words or music—it’s a whole range of elements coming together and making something that didn’t exist before. It’s telling stories. It’s devising a world, an experience, that people cannot have unless they see that film. When I catch an idea for a film, I fall in love with the way cinema can express it. I like a story that holds abstractions, and that’s what cinema can do.

Using a fisherman's net with large holes will only catch big fish; letting the smaller ones escape unharmed. It is a lot like life: focusing only on one golden opportunity lets the smaller ones slip away unnoticed. However, starting small will catch larger opportunities over time.

It looks like every truck them kind of boys drive. Jacked up to the sky and not a lick of dirt in the bed. They do them trucks just like some of them fellas that come up on the bay in them big fancy boats but don’t never catch no fish. Use a workingman’s tools for toys,” Albert said.

Socialism is anti-biological: the process of evolution involves the utilization of the inferior species, race, class, or individual by the superior; all life is exploitation, and subsists ultimately on other life; big fishes catch little fishes and eat them, and that is the whole story. Socialism is envy: “they want something which we have.

Corn is what feeds the steer that becomes the steak. Corn feeds the chicken and the pig, the turkey, and the lamb, the catfish and the tilapia and, increasingly, even the salmon, a carnivore by nature that the fish farmers are reengineering to tolerate corn. The eggs are made of corn. The milk and cheese and yogurt, which once came from dairy cows that grazed on grass, now typically comes from Holsteins that spend their working lives indoors tethered to machines, eating corn. Head over to the processed foods and you find ever more intricate manifestations of corn. A chicken nugget, for example, piles up corn upon corn: what chicken it contains consists of corn, of course, but so do most of a nugget's other constituents, including the modified corn starch that glues the things together, the corn flour in the batter that coats it, and the corn oil in which it gets fried. Much less obviously, the leavenings and lecithin, the mono-, di-, and triglycerides, the attractive gold coloring, and even the citric acid that keeps the nugget "fresh" can all be derived from corn. To wash down your chicken nuggets with virtually any soft drink in the supermarket is to have some corn with your corn. Since the 1980s virtually all the sodas and most of the fruit drinks sold in the supermarket have been sweetened with high-fructose corn syrup (HFCS) -- after water, corn sweetener is their principal ingredient. Grab a beer for you beverage instead and you'd still be drinking corn, in the form of alcohol fermented from glucose refined from corn. Read the ingredients on the label of any processed food and, provided you know the chemical names it travels under, corn is what you will find. For modified or unmodified starch, for glucose syrup and maltodextrin, for crystalline fructose and ascorbic acid, for lecithin and dextrose, lactic acid and lysine, for maltose and HFCS, for MSG and polyols, for the caramel color and xanthan gum, read: corn. Corn is in the coffee whitener and Cheez Whiz, the frozen yogurt and TV dinner, the canned fruit and ketchup and candies, the soups and snacks and cake mixes, the frosting and candies, the soups and snacks and cake mixes, the frosting and gravy and frozen waffles, the syrups and hot sauces, the mayonnaise and mustard, the hot dogs and the bologna, the margarine and shortening, the salad dressings and the relishes and even the vitamins. (Yes, it's in the Twinkie, too.) There are some forty-five thousand items in the average American supermarket and more than a quarter of them now contain corn. This goes for the nonfood items as well: Everything from the toothpaste and cosmetics to the disposable diapers, trash bags, cleansers, charcoal briquettes, matches, and batteries, right down to the shine on the cover of the magazine that catches your eye by the checkout: corn. Even in Produce on a day when there's ostensibly no corn for sale, you'll nevertheless find plenty of corn: in the vegetable wax that gives the cucumbers their sheen, in the pesticide responsible for the produce's perfection, even in the coating on the cardboard it was shipped in. Indeed, the supermarket itself -- the wallboard and joint compound, the linoleum and fiberglass and adhesives out of which the building itself has been built -- is in no small measure a manifestation of corn.

Fishermen know that if they wish to catch big fish, they must fish in deep waters; if you would catch a large measure of life, you must leave behind you the shallow waters with its many reefs and barriers and launch out into the deep blue waters where the big ones play. To catch the large manifestations of life you must enter into deeper and freer states of consciousness; only in these depths do the big expressions of life live.

Maybe you don't think it's helpful to hear how big the problem is and how we're making it worse without thinking about it. I agree: the size of the problem and the narrative of personal responsibility is destructive! It makes us feel guilty about everything we do, even though we had no idea and weren't responsible for setting up the cattle industry! It shouldn't be the consumer's responsibility to find out what type of fish is okay to eat, or which inexpensive cashmere sweater is okay to buy (which is not to say you should eat fish and wear cheap cashmere with abandon). Instead, it should be up to the company to produce cashmere responsible or not to catch and sell fish that shouldn't be caught and sold, since the companies making money from these activities are the experts (theoretically) who control how the product is made. That's a change we can demand companies make. We don't have to buy their products if they are unwilling to at least tell us where they come from.

Twolegs call it a boat,” Mistyfoot told them, padding up. Her fur lay flat on her shoulders, and she obviously wasn’t bothered by the rattling halfbridge. “They used to bring them onto our river sometimes—did you never see one? Sometimes they used them for fishing.” Brambleclaw tried to picture a Twoleg crouching in this boat, waiting to hook out a fish with its big clumsy paws. He found it hard to believe they’d be quick enough to catch anything, but if Mistyfoot said so, it must be true.

After a couple of hours, I reach an old house near the edge of the lake. Maybe “house” is too big a word for it. It’s only one room, about twelve feet square. My father thought that a long time ago there were a lot of buildings — you can still see some of the foundations — and people came to them to play and fish in the lake. This house outlasted the others because it’s made of concrete. Floor, roof, ceiling. Only one of four glass windows remains, wavy and yellowed by time. There’s no plumbing and no electricity, but the fireplace still works and there’s a woodpile in the corner that my father and I collected years ago. I start a small fire, counting on the mist to obscure any telltale smoke. While the fire catches, I sweep out the snow that has accumulated under the empty windows, using a twig broom my father made me when I was about eight and I played house here.

There was once a businessman who was sitting by the beach in a small Brazilian village. As he sat, he saw a Brazilian fisherman rowing a small boat toward the shore having caught quite a few big fish. The businessman was impressed and asked the fisherman, “How long does it take you to catch so many fish?” The fisherman replied, “Oh, just a short while.” “Then why don’t you stay longer at sea and catch even more?” The businessman was astonished. “This is enough to feed my whole family,” the fisherman said. The businessman then asked, “So, what do you do for the rest of the day?” The fisherman replied, “Well, I usually wake up early in the morning, go out to sea and catch a few fish, then go back and play with my kids. In the afternoon, I take a nap with my wife, and [when] evening comes, I join my buddies in the village for a drink—we play guitar, sing and dance throughout the night.” The businessman offered a suggestion to the fisherman. “I am a PhD in business management. I could help you to become a more successful person. From now on, you should spend more time at sea and try to catch as many fish as possible. When you have saved enough money, you could buy a bigger boat and catch even more fish. Soon you will be able to afford to buy more boats, set up your own company, your own production plant for canned food and distribution network. By then, you will have moved out of this village and to São Paulo, where you can set up an HQ to manage your other branches.” The fisherman continues, “And after that?” The businessman laughs heartily. “After that, you can live like a king in your own house, and when the time is right, you can go public and float your shares in the Stock Exchange, and you will be rich.” The fisherman asks, “And after that?” The businessman says, “After that, you can finally retire, you can move to a house by the fishing village, wake up early in the morning, catch a few fish, then return home to play with [your] kids, have a nice afternoon nap with your wife, and when evening comes, you can join your buddies for a drink, play the guitar, sing and dance throughout the night!” The fisherman was puzzled. “Isn’t that what I am doing now?

Twenty, thirty, forty feet. The pressure wasn’t uncomfortable. I’d never tried to push it—to see if there was a limit to how deep I could dive. I knew most regular humans couldn’t go past two hundred feet without crumpling like an aluminum can. I should’ve been blind, too, this deep in the water at night, but I could see the heat from living forms, and the cold of the currents. It’s hard to describe. It wasn’t like regular seeing, but I could tell where everything was. As I got closer to the bottom, I saw three hippocampi—fish-tailed horses—swimming in a circle around an overturned boat. The hippocampi were beautiful to watch. Their fish tails shimmered in rainbow colors, glowing phosphorescent. Their manes were white, and they were galloping through the water the way nervous horses do in a thunderstorm. Something was upsetting them. I got closer and saw the problem. A dark shape—some kind of animal—was wedged halfway under the boat and tangled in a fishing net, one of those big nets they use on trawlers to catch everything at once. I hated those things. It was bad enough they drowned porpoises and dolphins, but they also occasionally caught mythological animals. When the nets got tangled, some lazy fishermen would just cut them loose and let the trapped animals die. Apparently this poor creature had been mucking around on the bottom of Long Island Sound and had somehow gotten itself tangled in the net of this sunken fishing boat. It had tried to get out and managed to get even more hopelessly stuck, shifting the boat in the process. Now the wreckage of the hull, which was resting against a big rock, was teetering and threatening to collapse on top of the tangled animal. The hippocampi were swimming around frantically, wanting to help but not sure how. One was trying to chew the net, but hippocampi teeth just aren’t meant for cutting rope. Hippocampi are really strong, but they don’t have hands, and they’re not (shhh) all that smart. Free

Jack’s eyes glinted with humor. “Do we have to start with that?” “What else would we start with?” “Couldn’t you ask me something like, ‘How did your morning go?’ or ‘What’s your idea of the perfect day?’” “I already know what your idea of the perfect day is.” He arched a brow as if that surprised him. “You do? Let’s hear it.” I was going to say something flip and funny. But as I stared at him, I considered the question seriously. “Hmmn. I think you’d be at a cottage at the beach . . .” “My perfect day includes a woman,” he volunteered. “Okay. There’s a girlfriend. Very low-maintenance.” “I don’t know any low-maintenance women.” “That’s why you like this one so much. And the cottage is rustic, by the way. No cable, no wireless, and you’ve both turned off your cell phones. The two of you take a morning walk along the beach, maybe go for a swim. And you pick up a few pieces of seaglass to put in a jar. Later, you both ride bikes into the town, and you head for the outfitters shop to buy some fishing stuff . . . some kind of bait—” “Flies, not bait,” Jack said, his gaze not moving from mine. “Lefty’s Deceivers.” “For what kind of fish?” “Redfish.” “Great. So then you go fishing—” “The girlfriend, too?” he asked. “No, she stays behind and reads.” “She doesn’t like to fish?” “No, but she thinks it’s fine that you do, and she says it’s healthy for you to have separate interests.” I paused. “She packed a really big sandwich and a couple of beers for you.” “I like this woman.” “You go out in your boat, and you bring home a nice catch and throw it on the grill. You and the woman have dinner. You sit with your feet up, and you talk. Sometimes you stop to listen to the sounds of the tide coming in. After that, the two of you go on the beach with a bottle of wine, and sit on a blanket to watch the sunset.” I finished and looked at him expectantly. “How was that?” I had thought Jack would be amused, but he stared at me with disconcerting seriousness. “Great.” And then he was quiet, staring at me as if he were trying to figure out some sleight-of-hand trick.

Suddenly I realized I was standing on the hot wood of the dock, still touching elbows with Adam, staring at the skull-and-crossbones pendant. And when I looked up into his light blue eyes, I saw that he was staring at my neck. No. Down lower. “What’cha staring at?” I asked. He cleared his throat. “Tank top or what?” This was his seal of approval, as in, Last day of school or what? or, Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders or what? Hooray! He wasn’t Sean, but he was built of the same material. This was a good sign. I pumped him for more info, to make sure. “What about my tank top?” “You’re wearing it.” He looked out across the lake, showing me his profile. His cheek had turned bright red under his tan. I had embarrassed the wrong boy. Damn, it was back to the football T-shirt for me. No it wasn’t, either. I couldn’t abandon my plan. I had a fish to catch. “Look,” I told Adam, as if he hadn’t already looked. “Sean’s leaving at the end of the summer. Yeah, yeah, he’ll be back next summer, but I’m afraid I won’t be able to compete once he’s had a taste of college life and sorority girls. It’s now or never, and desperate times call for desperate tank tops.” Adam opened his mouth to say something. I shut him up by raising my hand. Imitating his deep boy-voice, I said, “I don’t know why you want to hook up with that jerk.” We’d had this conversation whenever we saw each other lately. I said in my normal voice, “I just do, okay? Let me do it, and don’t get in my way. Stay out of my net, little dolphin.” I bumped his hip with my hip. Or tried to, but he was a lot taller than me. I actually hit somewhere around his mid-thigh. He folded his arms, stared me down, and pressed his lips together. He tried to look grim. I could tell he was struggling not to laugh. “Don’t call me that.” “Why not?” “Dolphins don’t live in the lake,” he said matter-of-factly, as if this were the real reason. The real reason was that the man-child within him did not want to be called “little” anything. Boys were like that. I shrugged. “Fine, little brim. Little bass.” He walked toward the stairs. “Little striper.” He turned. “What if Sean actually asked you out?” I didn’t want to be teased about this. It could happen! “You act like it’s the most remote poss-“ “He has to ride around with the sunroof open just so he can fit his big head in the truck. Where would you sit?” “In his lap?” A look of disgust flashed across Adam’s face before he jogged up the stairs, his weight making the weathered planks creaked with every step.

When I was young, I did a lot of things with pine. But then, I started falling in love with Douglas fir, vertical-grain Douglas fir.

Ideas are like fish. If you want to catch little fish, you can stay in the shallow water. But if you want to catch the big fish, you’ve got to go deeper. Down deep, the fish are more powerful and more pure. They’re huge and abstract. And they’re very beautiful.

This is why I can always catch the big fish I want. Of course, in the process of implementing the plan, I will maintain an open strategy, adapt to the situation, and constantly adjust or revise my plan; therefore, even if the plan is not going well, I will not panic, and I can always respond calmly.

So Lily and I are on the boat and she’s asking me a ton of questions and I’m trying to answer them as patiently as possible. ‘Dad,’ she said, ‘what if we don’t catch any fish?’ ‘Then there will be one more fish in the loch.’ ‘Dad, what if we lose an oar?’ ‘Then I’ll use the one we have left to get us back to the docks.’ ‘Dad, what if we lose both oars?’ ‘Then we’ll paddle back with our hands.’ ‘Dad, what if a boat came?’ ‘Then we’d get out of the way.’ ‘What if it was really close?’ ‘We’d get out of the way really fast.’ ‘Dad, what if you didn’t see the boat?’ And by now I’m losing my patience. ‘Lily,’ I said, ‘I thought you wanted to learn how to fish. Why all the boat questions?’ ‘Because, Dad, there’s a big boat behind you.’ I look over my shoulder and the Dunoon ferry is right there!” We all burst out laughing as Nate starts gesturing with his hands. “I start rowing like hell to get us out of the way and Lily’s just sitting there calm as you please.

Creatures of the Deep v1.89 MOD APK (Unlocked Everything) Welcome to “Creatures of the Deep,” a special fishing game where you can explore, relax, and have fun competing with others. If you want to catch the biggest fish, this game is perfect for you. There’s some strange news from all around the world about mysterious monsters in the deep sea. As a player, your job is to talk to local people, investigate, and do it quickly! Join other anglers from different parts of the world and travel to cool fishing spots. Throw your fishing line, catch big fish, find sea creatures, discover treasures underwater, and maybe even meet some legendary monsters. This game gives you a mix of excitement and relaxation as you fish and explore the secrets under the ocean. “Creatures of the Deep” is waiting for you to start your adventure.

K is for Kite Today we have gone fishing. Dad's excited, so am I. He's angling in the ocean. Me? I'm fishing in the sky. Dad cast his line. Hours have passed. He hasn't had one bite. I feel a sharp tug on my string. Hurray, I've caught a kite. My catch is big and colorful, and trails a bow-tied tail. My dad is packing up his bait, his hooks, his rod and reel. When I get home, I'll show my prize and put it on display. When Dad gets home he'll tell tall tales of fish that got away.

Don’t worry,” he said, that grandfatherly smile spreading across his face once more, “I’ve been fishing for over forty years.  You’ve got plenty of time to catch up, maybe even pass what I’ve done.  You’re a perspicacious piscatorial pursuer, and I’m sure you’ll catch the big ones.

The two young boys raced along the sidewalk, twisting their way between passers-by, their eyes frantically glancing behind them at the large pursuing policeman. Suddenly Mr. Thorn, a large, burley man dressed in black blocked their way and took them both by the collars. “So there you are!” He snatched the apple quickly from James’ hand. “What have we here?” He was about to take a bite of it, when he saw the officer racing towards them. “It’s all right officer. I have the young scoundrels and I’ll make full restitutions for their thievery.” He quickly fished coins from his pocket and with a conning smile, put them in the hand of the frowning Policeman. “And a little extra for your trouble, my good man. It’s such a small crime and the criminals so . . . minor.” The burly policeman rocked back and forth considering and then grunted, after all it was Christmas. “Very well sir. I’ll give these to the Vendor but I catch either of you snatching again, it’s behind bars with you and a good strong workhouse. You got me!” Jonas glanced down at his worn out boots, his face red with shame. “Oh yes sir.” James followed suit and then glanced up into the gruff face of the law. “Sorry, we were just hungry!” Mr. Thorn smiled and tipped his hat to the Policeman, who shaking his head, sauntered away. Immediately Mr. Thorn slapped Jonas hard across the face, drawing blood from his nose and then smacked James on the head, crushing his cap. He snatched the apple from James’ hand and pocketed them both. “So here you two no-accounts are? I’ve been searching high and wide for the lot of you. I left you at this corner and I expected to find you right where I left ya!” He then snatched the cup from Jonas’ hand with a scowl. He poured the coins into his hand and his greedy eyes took in the meager profits. Jonas immediately stammered justification for their absence. “We-we found a better corner to beg at, Mr. Thorn. I think we done all right.” Mr. Thorn cleared his throat considering and then his boisterous laughter echoed. He put his big arms around the two young lads. “Well, you done fine for us boys! We needs the money! We’ll have to have you two young Sirs representing our fine establishment again tomorrow, I do believe.” He chuckled cruelly. “We’ve great charity in our hearts for you kiddies but a soulful heart won’t put bread and molasses on the table.” He greedily poured the coins into his coat pocket. Both lads coughed mischievously at mention of such charitable actions. Thorn eyed them both to see if they are making fun of him, which they were. Jonas cleared his throat. “A bit of a tickle.” Thorn growled and gruffly took hold of the boy’s arm. “I’d tickle you both with a whip if I thought you was funning with me! Now boys, you’ve roughed my gentle nature. You know that I has nothing but love for the lot of you. My big heart swells at the sight of each and every one of you little bastards . . . I mean kiddies. Shall we on home?” “Here Jamey lad, you hold the cup. Give us a song the two of you, to beg alms by. I think I’m in the mood for “Oh Come All Ye Faithful”, but make it sweet or there’s a lashing for the both of ya!” Jonas and James exchanged tortured looks. Together the young Nicholas boys sweetly began to sing the song, as they moved through the crowd. The Tall Toymaker followed them down the sidewalk, trying not to be observed by Thorn. ”And a villain enters the scene, an ugly villain at that!

A large fish jumped across the river and they were silent; he was huge. “King,” Rick finally said. “I haven’t seen one that size in a long time.” “He must be lost,” Jack said, casting in that direction. Rick took a few paces downstream, changed out his fly and threw a line. They played with him a while, then Rick hooked him and yelled, “Woo-hoo!” “Lead him, let him take out line, tire him out before you—” Rick laughed. “I know how to catch a fish.” “Don’t screw around, get too anxious and lose him,” Jack said. “You milking this cow?” Ricky asked him. For the better part of an hour Rick played him, letting out line, letting him run, pulling him back, walking up and down in the shallow part of the river when the fish ran, and all the while he had Jack in his ear. “That son of a bitch is big. Let out more line. Don’t spoil him, he’s a fighter. He’s getting too far from your control, reel him back.” And on and on and on. Rick finally brought him in, a great big Chinook, over thirty pounds. And that was more than enough fishing; Rick’s ears were ringing from Jack’s mother-henning. When they got back to the bar, Preacher whistled in admiration and loaded the fish on the scale. “Thirty-seven point four. You catch him all by yourself, Rick?” Rick made a face at Jack. “Not exactly.” *

He ain’t a Coot not really,” said Bill. “He ain’t got a head on him no better’n a squashed frog. I see him all right but he don’t know nothing. Fishing he were on the gravel reach.” “Catching anything?” asked Pete, who, detective or no detective, was still a fisherman. “Perch,” said Bill. “Oh, never mind the fish,” said Dorothea. “Had any boats been cast off?” “He tell me to keep my shadow off the water,” said Bill. “So I creep up and give him one of my sandwiches and when I ask if any boats been cast off, why Tommy he say ‘How do you know?’ “ “Go on. Go on,” said Dorothea, reaching out for one of the little black paper flags all ready on its pin. “I say I don’t know but I want to know and Tommy he say it weren’t his fault and I say when were it and what boat and Tommy he said it were his Dad’s row-boat and he give it Tommy to tie up and Tommy he tie it to a stick what broke and he have to go in swimming to catch it.

Most of filmmaking is common sense. If you stay on your toes and think about how to do a thing, it’s right there.

She shielded her eyes from the sun, her truck keys dangling down the back of her free hand, as Cooper lowered the passenger window and leaned forward so he could see her. “G’day, Starfish. Need a lift?” She needed a lot of things. Hot coffee, sisters who weren’t nosy, a clear vision about what should be next on her life agenda. Being inside a small, sporty vehicle, trapped mere inches from Cooper Jax, even for the short ride down to Half Moon Harbor? That she definitely did not need. “I’m good, thanks. And can we retire the nickname? Please?” He’d begun calling her that after she’d regaled him with a steady string of childhood stories of life lived by the sea, and he’d commented that she seemed too big a fish for such a small pond. A starfish, as it were. She’d rolled her eyes at the very bad pun, but the nickname had stuck. Aussies were big on nicknames. And the honest truth of it was, she hadn’t minded hearing him call her that, even though it had been a joke, delivered as a ribbing, not an endearment. Now? Now she wasn’t sure how he meant it, or what it made her feel when he said it. Better to just bury it right, Ker? Like you do everything that makes you uncomfortable. She really needed to find a way to strangle her little voice. “I’ve got a meeting,” she went on, not giving him a chance to respond. He nodded to the basket in her arms. “Yes, I can see that. Demanding lot, laundry.” She glanced down, then back at him. “No, with my sisters. About Fiona’s wedding.” “Yes, I heard about it.” She didn’t ask how he could possible know that, or who he’d been talking to this time, because any person in town could have brought him up to speed on the goings-on about pretty much any person he wanted to know about. The downside to being home. One of the great things about being a wanderer was that folks only knew whatever parts of her story she opted to share with them. Cooper, she realized now, had already known more than pretty much anyone she’d met in her travels up to that point. God only knows what he’d learned in the twenty-four hours he’d been in the Cove. She didn’t want to examine how that made her feel either. “Three McCrae weddings in less than a year,” he commented, as if casually discussing the weather. Then he grinned. “Is it catching?

Do ye like fish, lass?” “What?” “We’ll catch ye one for breakfast tomorrow. A big one. Nice and fresh, best ye’ll ever have.” “A fish?” She raised a brow. “Will you prepare it yourself?” “I might, if it’ll make ye happy.” He looked down at her. “Of course, ye don’t know if I’m any better a cook than that useless looby who’s charged with feedin’ us all now, do ye? On the other hand, ’twould be hard to bollocks up a fish.” “You are going to cook me a fish.” “I could.” “And why are you smiling, Captain O’ Devir?” He hadn’t realized he was. Another thing she did to him. Charmed him right out of his melancholy, kicked out the darkness that was English hatred and Josiah’s death and Dolores Ann’s betrayal and filled it with sweet, warm sunshine, even when she was being prickly. “Am I?” “You were.” “Well, lass, I was just thinkin’ how nice it is to be standin’ here with a pretty girl and enjoyin’ a bit of life before her lauded brother catches up to and kills me in the most gruesome manner a body might imagine, before the Royal Navy finds a way to try and annihilate me, before I head back to America with her brother’s explosive.” He looked down at her. “Puttin’ it all in me memory bank, I am. Moments like this don’t last forever.

{2} Neither did I but vacant seasons spend In this my scribble; nor did I intend But to divert myself in doing this From worser thoughts which make me do amiss. Thus, I set pen to paper with delight, And quickly had my thoughts in black and white. For, having now my method by the end, Still as I pulled, it came; and so I penned It down: until it came at last to be, For length and breadth, the bigness which you see. Well, when I had thus put mine ends together, I shewed them others, that I might see whether They would condemn them, or them justify: And some said, Let them live; some, Let them die; Some said, JOHN, print it; others said, Not so; Some said, It might do good; others said, No. Now was I in a strait, and did not see Which was the best thing to be done by me: At last I thought, Since you are thus divided, I print it will, and so the case decided. {3} For, thought I, some, I see, would have it done, Though others in that channel do not run: To prove, then, who advised for the best, Thus I thought fit to put it to the test. I further thought, if now I did deny Those that would have it, thus to gratify. I did not know but hinder them I might Of that which would to them be great delight. For those which were not for its coming forth, I said to them, Offend you I am loth, Yet, since your brethren pleased with it be, Forbear to judge till you do further see. If that thou wilt not read, let it alone; Some love the meat, some love to pick the bone. Yea, that I might them better palliate, I did too with them thus expostulate:-- {4} May I not write in such a style as this? In such a method, too, and yet not miss My end--thy good? Why may it not be done? Dark clouds bring waters, when the bright bring none. Yea, dark or bright, if they their silver drops Cause to descend, the earth, by yielding crops, Gives praise to both, and carpeth not at either, But treasures up the fruit they yield together; Yea, so commixes both, that in her fruit None can distinguish this from that: they suit Her well when hungry; but, if she be full, She spews out both, and makes their blessings null. You see the ways the fisherman doth take To catch the fish; what engines doth he make? Behold how he engageth all his wits; Also his snares, lines, angles, hooks, and nets; Yet fish there be, that neither hook, nor line, Nor snare, nor net, nor engine can make thine: They must be groped for, and be tickled too, Or they will not be catch'd, whate'er you do. How does the fowler seek to catch his game By divers means! all which one cannot name: His guns, his nets, his lime-twigs, light, and bell: He creeps, he goes, he stands; yea, who can tell Of all his postures? Yet there's none of these Will make him master of what fowls he please. Yea, he must pipe and whistle to catch this, Yet, if he does so, that bird he will miss. If that a pearl may in a toad's head dwell, And may be found too in an oyster-shell; If things that promise nothing do contain What better is than gold; who will disdain, That have an inkling of it, there to look, That they may find it? Now, my little book, (Though void of all these paintings that may make It with this or the other man to take) Is not without those things that do excel What do in brave but empty notions dwell.

I cast my eyeball into the depths of space as bait, vision-casting to see the unreal catch life is reeling in for me.

Small bait cast properly can catch big fish.

The next morning, Steve took his boat out and saw what had happened. The big male had triggered the trap and was snared in the mesh--sort of. Even though the rectangular-shaped net was the biggest he had, the croc’s tail and back leg stuck out. But the black ghost had finally been caught. At Steve’s approach, the animal thrashed wildly, smashing apart mangrove trees on either side of the trap. Steve tried to top-jaw-rope the croc, but it was fighting too violently. Normally Chilli acted as a distraction, giving Steve the chance to secure the croc. But the dog wanted no part of this. She cowered on the floor of the dinghy, unwilling to face this monstrously large croc. Steve was truly on his own. He finally secured a top-jaw rope and tied the other end to a tree. With a massive “death roll”--a defensive maneuver in which the reptile spins its enormous body--the big croc smashed the tree flat and snapped it off. Steve tried again; the croc thrashed, growling and roaring in protest at the trapper in khaki, lunging again and again to tear Steve apart. Finally, the giant croc death-rolled so violently that he came off the bank and landed in the boat, which immediately sank. Chilli had jumped out and was swimming for shore as Steve worked against time. With the croc underwater, Steve lashed the croc, trap and all, in the dinghy. But moving the waterlogged boat and a ton of crocodile was simply too much. Steve sprinted several miles in the tropical heat to reach a cane farm, where he hoped to get help. The cane farmers were a bit hesitant to lend a hand, so Steve promised them a case of beer, and a deal was made. With a sturdy fishing boat secured to each side of Steve’s dinghy, they managed to tow it downriver where they could winch croc and boat onto dry land to get him into a crate. By this time, a crowd of spectators had gathered. When Steve told me the story of the capture, I got the sense that he felt sorry he had to catch the crocodile at all. “It seemed wrong to remove the king of the river,” Steve said. “That croc had lasted in his territory for decades. Here I was taking him out of it. The local people just seemed relieved, and a couple even joked about how many boots he’d make.” Steve was very clever to include the local people and soon won them over to see just how special this crocodile really was. Just as he was dragged into his crate, the old croc attempted a final act of defiance, a death roll that forced Steve to pin him again. “I whispered to him to calm him down,” Steve said. “What did you say to him?” I asked. “Please don’t die.” The black crocodile didn’t die. Steve brought him back to Beerwah, named him Acco, and gave him a beautiful big pond that Bob had prepared, with plenty of places to hide. We were in the Crocodile Environmental Park at the zoo when Steve first told me the story of Acco’s capture. I just had to revisit him after hearing his story. There he was, the black ghost himself, magnificently sunning on the bank of his billabong.

He can be a mystery. There’s more to Preacher than... You really care about him?” “I do.” “Then you be patient. He’ll come around. Paige, it’s obvious—he cares about you, too. You and Christopher. I’ve never seen him like this with anybody.” “Maybe he wants to be sure I’m not just—” Mike was shaking his head. “He wants to be sure of himself, Paige. Preacher’s real cautious. I think the man could be terrified of disappointing you. That’s my bet.” “He couldn’t possibly,” she said, and a tear fell again. Mike wiped it away. “You just have to trust me on this—he’s a bundle of nerves. He’s really good in a fight, really good in a war, and who’da guessed how good a cook he turned out to be, huh? But with women? Paige—he’s never been a hustler. I don’t know of any women. He’s never been that kind of guy. Just not a tomcat like some of the rest of us.” “That’s one of the things I love most,” she whispered. Mike smiled. “You give him some time, huh?” She nodded. She smiled weakly. Mike dropped a brotherly kiss on her forehead. “It’s going to be all right.” “You think so?” “Oh, yeah. Just hang in there. Don’t give up on him.” Mike thought, that lucky son of a bitch. This woman adored him. Wanted nothing so much as to make him happy all night long. “Go wash your face. I’m gonna get myself a beer.” He gave her shoulders a final squeeze, and as she turned away from him, Preacher was standing in the back door with his catch. Paige skittered past Preacher, keeping her head down so that he wouldn’t see her tears. Preacher scowled at Mike. “Need something?” he asked. “I need a beer before I walk over to Doc’s and let Mel torture me. Want me to get it myself?” “Help yourself,” he said, throwing his fish in the big sink. Jack

In Japan, some words have kotodama, which are spirits that live inside a word and give it a special power. The kotodama of now felt like a slippery fish, a slick fat tuna with a big belly and a smallish head and tail that looked something like this: NOW felt like a big fish swallowing a little fish, and I wanted to catch it and make it stop. I was just a kid, and I thought if I could truly grasp the meaning of the big fish NOW, I would be able to save little fish Naoko but the word always slipped away from me.

It was in the boat that Jesus found Peter. It wasn’t at church or in a prayer meeting. It was out at sea in Peter’s place of comfort, while Peter was coming to terms with yet another failure, a night spent without catching a single fish. But instead of judgment, Jesus met Peter with grace. Instead of anger, Jesus came to Peter and showed him love. Jesus helped him make a big catch, and then Jesus cooked Peter breakfast.

Ask a graybeard for a fish story, and you are bound to be regaled about a childhood catch that was “this big!” Any listening kids will giggle. They’ll think that he’s exaggerating or that his memory has failed—after all, no fish is that big. Actually, fish really were that big. In fact, fishing preferentially removes larger specimens, causing a steady decrease in overall size. When the old man passes away, so does his baseline. Every generation naturally accepts the planet as it is, with ever-smaller fish, fewer birds, and less ice. That’s how humans as a whole unwittingly overlook drastic and devastating changes to the environment. The unfolding declines are broken into a series of baselines—ever shifting—so the overall loss is never felt by a single generation, never suffered by a single soul.

If you want to catch a big fish, the best way is to fish in waters that are unpopulated by other fishermen.

I don't necessarily love rotting bodies, but there's a texture to a rotting body that is un-believable. Have you ever seen a little rotted animal? I love looking at those things, just as much as I like to look at a close-up of some tree bark, or a small bug, or a cup of coffee, or a piece of pie. You get in close and the textures are wonderful.

Men, in their libidinal depths, are seeking a divinity to serve and adore. What do I mean by LIBIDINAL DEPTHS? A man’s libidinal depths is his brain and biology. But most importantly it’s his sensual imagination. Don’t bypass that, ladies, because it’s key to the ultimate purpose of your divine feminine in his life. Men don’t have a cheating problem. The problem is most women can’t reach deep enough into their libidinal depths because they themselves are not fully tapped into their own divine feminine or their sensuality. This is my most honest advice to any woman who wants to reach a man deep enough for him to consider her a ‘divinity’ he wants to serve and adore: start by shifting your mindset from ‘conscious’ dating to ‘sensual’ dating. (No, I didn’t say ‘sexual’ dating. Read that again, please). Conscious dating is when you’re in your head space a lot more than you’re in your heart space and body. You can’t genuinely tap into his libidinal depths if you’re more in your head space. Conscious dating is usually for hypergamous women. It’s a ‘conscious’ hunt for bigger and better options. Sadly, this kind of dating is deficient of substance and generally soul depleting. It’s like dating someone who just wants to eat, have a good time, and then expect a marriage proposal. Kind’a superficial, don’t you think? I think there’s a huge need for sapiosexual women in the dating world today. I actually have an even better term for it. I’ve coined it ‘sapioSENSUAL’. The prefix sapio- comes from the Latin verb sapere, meaning “to be wise” or “to have sense.” Dating a sapioSENSUAL woman is a huge turn ON. That’s what men (like me), in their libidinal depths, want and are more than willing to commit to long-term. And ladies, this far transcends a man’s sexual urges. As I often say, you can’t just bring your body, you have to bring your mind and spirit too. This trips a lot of women who are used to ‘conscious’ dating. Dating a sapioSENSUAL is the future. It requires you to be constantly working on cultivating your sensual depth. Newsflash... DEPTH IS THE NEW WORTH. #DeepCallsUntoDeep So ladies, you have to come into the deep if you’re really serious about catching a BIG fish.

When you want to catch a big fish, you have to let out a long line. This isn’t over, you know? Winning is easy; staying as the winner, now that’s hard.

As Jack spoke, Carrington caught sight of me in the doorway, and she threw me a grin. “Are you gonna take Miss Ella fishing?” she asked Jack, who had picked up a Japanese saw and was cutting off the protruding end of the gunnel at an angle. “If she wants to,” he said. “Is she gonna catch you, Uncle Jack?” Carrington asked slyly. “She already did, darlin’.” At the sound of her titter, Jack paused in his sawing, followed her gaze and saw me standing there. A slow smile spread across his face, and his gaze turned dark and hot as he glanced over my pink swimsuit and bare legs. Dropping the saw, he muttered to the other two, “’ Scuse me, I’ve got to talk to Miss Ella about something.” “No, you don’t,” I protested. “I just wanted a peek at the skiff. It’s beautiful, Carrington. What color are you going to paint it?” “Pink like your bathing suit,” she said cheerfully. Jack was coming toward me. I retreated a few steps. “Don’t take him away for good, Ella,” Gage said. “We still need to fasten the gunnel on the other side.” “I’m not taking him away at all, I . . . Jack, get back to work.” But he headed for me without pausing, and I giggled and retreated into the kitchen. “Leave me alone, you’re all sweaty!” In a few seconds, I found myself pinned against a countertop, his hands gripping the beveled granite edge on either side of me. “You like me sweaty,” he murmured, his denim-clad legs corralling mine. I leaned backward to avoid contact with his damp chest. “If I have caught you,” I told him, still giggling, “I’m going to throw you back.” “You only throw the little ones back, darlin’. The big ones you keep. Now give me a kiss.” I tried to stop smiling long enough to comply. His lips were warm as they moved over mine, the kiss erotic in its careful lightness.

Into its pinched streets, the fish-sellers told me, cars from Kolkata arrive daily, sent by government officials or corporate executives just to buy the best of the day's catch. The daily market is the town's centerpiece. For streets together, cereal-sellers sit surrounded by sacks of six or eight types of cereals; fisherwomen with toes reddened by fish blood squat behind cutters, little steel tubs of still-swimming catfish, and turmeric-smeared cuts of fish; on blue tarpaulins, vegetable-sellers arrange potatoes, gourds, red onions, beans both broad and French, big and little aubergines, pumpkins and huge heads of cabbage.

If everyone could see it, then it wouldn't be a Vision

Day 1 I am Slinklebert Petrovius Mordechai Smythe, but everyone calls me Slinky, mainly because nobody can ever figure out how to say my name properly. I live in the jungle with my family and we’re the royal family here. It’s no big deal really. It just means that every now and then, dad puts on a crown and makes people bow to him, just so they know who’s boss. And once a year, we have a special party for all the important Minecraftians in the area so dad can show off how many emeralds we have. It’s very boring if you ask me. Nobody ever does though. I’m just a kitten and nobody thinks that I have anything to say they want to listen to. That’s OK with me. I don’t want to be royal anyway. I’d rather play all day. That’s why I’m glad we live in the jungle. There’s so much cool stuff to do here. I can climb trees, chase sunlight through the leaves, and catch fish in the lake. It’s a busy life being a royal kitten. It’s going to be my birthday soon and dad asked me what I wanted. I told him that I wanted to have a pet creeper. He told me not to be so silly. Everyone knows that creepers don’t exist. They’re a story made up by Minecraftians to scare naughty children. No ocelot has ever seen a creeper, and if nobody has seen one then they can’t be real. It’s a shame they’re not real though. They sound so cool! I mean, tall, green things that blow up when they’re annoyed or frightened or trying to cause trouble? Who wouldn’t want to meet one of those? Since dad said I couldn’t have a pet creeper, I had to think of something else to ask for. I know what he really wanted to give me, a day on the throne leading the jungle. I can’t think of a worse present for my birthday. I’d have to sit around all day while people come to see me and complain about what the other ocelots are doing. I’ve sat with dad in the throne room before and it was hard to stay awake. It was so dull! But I could see how much it meant to dad to have me interested in his work, so I told him that I’d like to spend the day with him. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him smile as much as he did when he heard me say that. I could count all his sharp, pointy teeth. He has a lot of them. Now that I’ve thought a little more about it, I should have asked for a big pile of fish. At least they’d taste good. Instead, I’ve got to spend my birthday hanging around with dad when I could be out in the jungle having fun. Oh well. I suppose it’s just for one day. I can put up with being bored for just one day.

Getting" the relationship you want is not like fishing for a big catch. It is like creating a beautiful garden (yourself) that others want to hang out in with you.

Sometimes you have to realize that the only constant in life is change." "Wow! Very profound," Willo said with a chuckle. "Did you know Heraclitus, a Greek philosopher, said that a very, very long time ago?" "No," Gordon said. "You learned a lot in college." "I guess I did," Willo said. Then she laughed. "But if knowing a dead Greek philosopher is all I know, I'm in for big trouble in the real world." "My dad says, 'Give a man a fish and you feed him for a day; teach a man to fish and you feed him for a lifetime.'" "That's a Chinese proverb," Willo said admiringly. "Sort of my family's philosophy in life and work," he said. "I tell my dad, 'If we don't catch fish, we're having a Swanson TV dinner.'" "I don't know if that proverb will catch on," Willo said.

The market smelled of hay and roasted nuts; she bought a newspaper cone of almonds from a woman stirring them over an open fire. She bought thick sandy leeks, a rope of garlic and a pound of tomatoes; she bought a long batard of sourdough bread, a dozen bluish speckled eggs, a jar of cream, because now she had a refrigerator and could keep such things for more than an hour or two. She lifted the paper lid of the cream and tasted it, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand; she remembered the pillowy clouds of Gruyère grated onto her piece of waxed paper at Les Halles, the cheese maker young and handsome and milk-fed himself; he tried to teach her the French for being in love with him: mon cocotte, mon chouchou, ma petit lapin, Madame, s'il vous plaît. She walked the stalls, and on the edge of the market, a fishmonger laid out his catch on two blocks of ice: strange curled squids and spider crabs, silvery piles of sardines, their eyes still sparkling, thick slabs of some white-meated fish, its head as big as a dinner plate.

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May everyone be happy. May everyone be free of disease. May auspiciousness be seen everywhere. May suffering belong to no one.

You don’t know yourself by looking in the mirror. You don’t know yourself by sitting down and having a talk with yourself. But it’s there, within, within, within.

So you don’t know how it’s going to hit people. But if you thought about how it’s going to hit people, or if it’s going to hurt someone, or if it’s going to do this or do that, then you would have to stop making films. You just do these things that you fall in love with, and you never know what’s going to happen.