Fisherman's Wife Quotes

I have already been loved,” said Edward. “I have been loved by a girl named Abilene. I have been loved by a fisherman and his wife and a hobo and his dog. I have been loved by a boy who played the harmonica and by a girl who died. Don’t talk to me about love,” he said. “I have known love.

I am a child of Alban’s earth Her ancient bones brought me to birth Her crags and islands built me strong My heart beats to her deep wild song. I am the wife with bairn on knee I am the fisherman at sea I am the piper on the strand I am the warrior, sword in hand. White Lady shield me with your fire Lord of the North my heart inspire Hag of the Isles my secrets keep Master of Shadows guard my sleep. I am the mountain, I am the sky I am the song that will not die I am the heather, I am the sea My spirit is forever free.

Jesus had no money, but was the richest of all time; had no education, but was the smartest of all time; had no titles, but was the noblest of all time; had no pedigree, but was the finest of all time; and had no power, but was the strongest of all time. He had no wife, but was the meekest husband of all time; had no children, but was the gentlest father of all time; had no teacher, but was the humblest pupil of all time; had no schooling, but was the wisest teacher of all time; and had no temple, but was the godliest rabbi of all time. He had no sword, but was the bravest warrior of all time; had no boat, but was the shrewdest fisherman of all time; had no winery, but was the aptest winemaker of all time; had no mentor, but was the nicest counselor of all time; and had no pen, but was the greatest author of all time. He had no seminary, but was the sharpest theologian of all time; had no university, but was the brightest professor of all time; had no degree, but was the ablest doctor of all time; had no wealth, but was the biggest philanthropist of all time; and had no stage, but was the grandest entertainer of all time.

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?

An American businessman took a vacation to a small coastal Mexican village on doctor’s orders. Unable to sleep after an urgent phone call from the office the first morning, he walked out to the pier to clear his head. A small boat with just one fisherman had docked, and inside the boat were several large yellowfin tuna. The American complimented the Mexican on the quality of his fish. “How long did it take you to catch them?” the American asked. “Only a little while,” the Mexican replied in surprisingly good English. “Why don’t you stay out longer and catch more fish?” the American then asked. “I have enough to support my family and give a few to friends,” the Mexican said as he unloaded them into a basket. “But… What do you do with the rest of your time?” The Mexican looked up and smiled. “I sleep late, fish a little, play with my children, take a siesta with my wife, Julia, and stroll into the village each evening, where I sip wine and play guitar with my amigos. I have a full and busy life, señor.” The American laughed and stood tall. “Sir, I’m a Harvard M.B.A. and can help you. You should spend more time fishing, and with the proceeds, buy a bigger boat. In no time, you could buy several boats with the increased haul. Eventually, you would have a fleet of fishing boats.” He continued, “Instead of selling your catch to a middleman, you would sell directly to the consumers, eventually opening your own cannery. You would control the product, processing, and distribution. You would need to leave this small coastal fishing village, of course, and move to Mexico City, then to Los Angeles, and eventually to New York City, where you could run your expanded enterprise with proper management. The Mexican fisherman asked, “But, señor, how long will all this take?” To which the American replied, “15-20 years, 25 tops.” “But what then, señor?” The American laughed and said, “That’s the best part. When the time is right, you would announce an IPO and sell your company stock to the public and become very rich. You would make millions.” “Millions señor? Then what?" “Then you would retire and move to a small coastal fishing village, where you would sleep late, fish a little, play with your kids, take a siesta with your wife, and stroll in to the village in the evenings where you could sip wine and play your guitar with your amigos.

There is a famous parable about a man who lived in a cottage by the sea. Every morning, the man went fishing and caught just enough fish for the day. Afterward, he would spend time playing with his son, take a siesta, and enjoy lunch with his family. In the evening, he and his wife would meet friends at a local bar, where they would tell stories, play music, and dance the night away. One day, a tourist saw the fisherman and his meager catch and asked, “Why do you only catch three or four fish?” “That is all my family needs for today,” the fisherman replied. But the tourist had gone to business school and could not help but offer advice: “You know, if you catch a few more fish and sell them at the market, you could make some extra money.” “Why would I want to do that?” the fisherman asked. “With the extra money you could save up and buy a boat. Then, you could catch even more fish, and make even more money, which you could use to buy an entire fleet of boats!” “Why would I need so many boats?” queried the fisherman. “Don’t you see? With a fleet of boats, you could sell more fish, and with the extra money, you could move to New York, run an international business and sell fish all over the world!” “And how long would this take?” the fisherman asked. “Maybe 10 or 20 years,” the businessman said. “Then what?” the fisherman said. “Then you could sell your company for millions, retire, buy a cottage by the sea, go fishing every morning, take a siesta every afternoon, enjoy lunch with your family, and spend the evenings with friends, playing music and dancing!” How many of us today are like this businessman, blindly chasing what has been in front of us all along?

Soon after the American left, things changed. The government, desperate for tax dollars, levied a series of boating, gaming, and license fees: To continue fishing, the Mexican must pay $400 for a fishing license, a $200 environmental fee, a $350 game endorsement, and $1,800 in mooring fees. If he doesn’t pay ASAP, the Mexican will be barred from fishing. Unfortunately, after paying all the fees, the Mexican has little money left to insure and license his boat. Unable to legally operate at his favorite coastal town, the Mexican fisherman drives three hours south to another town, where the quality of the fish is poor. The long drive takes its toll on the Mexican’s car, where it ultimately breaks down. In order to fix his car, he needs $200 for a water pump and $400 for a radiator. This is after he pays $600 to get his car towed back to his village. But this story is about to get worse. When the Mexican fails to pay the mooring fees to the harbor master, he loses his boat. The Mexican fisherman who spent most of his days in a state of unpreparedness and merriment—strumming around with his friends, sipping wine—is now unable to support his family. His wife divorces him. The Mexican now sings a different tune with his amigos … something along the lines of “Money can buy happiness.

At the age of ninety-two, James spent months hunched over the kitchen table, learning the alphabet, practicing his signature, and slowly progressing to reading simple children’s books. Then his wife died, sending him into a tailspin and robbing him of his motivation to learn to read. But his story doesn’t end there. At the age of ninety-six, Henry became determined to try to learn to read again. This time he not only dove back into reading, but, with the help of a retired English teacher, he began to write, longhand, about his life, his time at sea, a man he lost overboard on one voyage, and what his grandfather’s farm was like in the Azores. He finished his memoir, and when he was ninety-eight it was published and became a bestselling book called In a Fisherman’s Language. It was optioned to become a film, and his success triggered a congratulatory letter from President Obama. Henry was working on his second book when he died at age ninety-nine in 2013. Henry’s story is remarkable on many levels. First, it took a tremendous amount of grit just to get by in today’s world as an illiterate adult. Even more remarkable was his determination to overcome it later in life.

then asked why he didn’t stay out longer and catch more fish. The Mexican replied that he had enough to meet his family’s needs. The American then asked, “But what do you do with the rest of your day?” The Mexican fisherman said, “I sleep late, I fish a little, I play with my children, I take a siesta with my wife, I stroll into the village each evening where I sip some wine and play guitar with my amigos—so I have a full and busy life, Señor.

In August 1956, about a year and a half after Hemingway won the Nobel Prize in Literature, the Bacardi Rum Company hosted a reception for him and his wife, Mary, at its Hatuey brewery, not far from the Hemingways’ home. He had been offered parties at exclusive private clubs, but he agreed only to the event at the brewery, because he knew he could bring his fisherman friends, even if they came barefoot and in shorts—as they did.

Fables and Fortune Hunters An American businessman took a vacation to a small coastal Mexican village on doctor’s orders. Unable to sleep after an urgent phone call from the office the first morning, he walked out to the pier to clear his head. A small boat with just one fisherman had docked, and inside the boat were several large yellowfin tuna. The American complimented the Mexican on the quality of his fish. “How long did it take you to catch them?” the American asked. “Only a little while,” the Mexican replied in surprisingly good English. “Why don’t you stay out longer and catch more fish?” the American then asked. “I have enough to support my family and give a few to friends,” the Mexican said as he unloaded them into a basket. “But … What do you do with the rest of your time?” The Mexican looked up and smiled. “I sleep late, fish a little, play with my children, take a siesta with my wife, Julia, and stroll into the village each evening, where I sip wine and play guitar with my amigos. I have a full and busy life, señor.” The American laughed and stood tall. “Sir, I’m a Harvard M.B.A. and can help you. You should spend more time fishing, and with the proceeds, buy a bigger boat. In no time, you could buy several boats with the increased haul. Eventually, you would have a fleet of fishing boats.” He continued, “Instead of selling your catch to a middleman, you would sell directly to the consumers, eventually opening your own cannery. You would control the product, processing, and distribution. You would need to leave this small coastal fishing village, of course, and move to Mexico City, then to Los Angeles, and eventually New York City, where you could run your expanding enterprise with proper management.” The Mexican fisherman asked, “But, señor, how long will all this take?” To which the American replied, “15–20 years. 25 tops.” “But what then, señor?” The American laughed and said, “That’s the best part. When the time is right, you would announce an IPO and sell your company stock to the public and become very rich. You would make millions.” “Millions, señor? Then what?” “Then you would retire and move to a small coastal fishing village, where you would sleep late, fish a little, play with your kids, take a siesta with your wife, and stroll to the village in the evenings where you could sip wine and play your guitar with your amigos …

My curiosity aroused, I flipped to another page. 蛸と海女: Tako to Ama, trans. ‘The Dream of the Fisherman’s Wife.’ Head thrown back, eyes closed, a nude woman lay sprawled ashore. Her brows creased in anguish and ecstasy. As she was pleasured by a large octopus. No, octopi. I trailed a finger along the suctioned underside of the creature’s appendage to her breast where a smaller octopus latched onto. The painting might’ve been unmoving, but it held an animated quality. The woman writhing on the shore; the fluid movements of the sea creatures as the trio derived mutual pleasure from their strange encounter. Their visceral desire seeped through the page, and I was but a voyeur.

a Harvard M.B.A. and can help you. You should spend more time fishing, and with the proceeds, buy a bigger boat. In no time, you could buy several boats with the increased haul. Eventually, you would have a fleet of fishing boats.” He continued, “Instead of selling your catch to a middleman, you would sell directly to the consumers, eventually opening your own cannery. You would control the product, processing, and distribution. You would need to leave this small coastal fishing village, of course, and move to Mexico City, then to Los Angeles, and eventually New York City, where you could run your expanding enterprise with proper management.” The Mexican fisherman asked, “But, señor, how long will all this take?” To which the American replied, “15–20 years. 25 tops.” “But what then, señor?” The American laughed and said, “That’s the best part. When the time is right, you would announce an IPO and sell your company stock to the public and become very rich. You would make millions.” “Millions, señor? Then what?” “Then you would retire and move to a small coastal fishing village, where you would sleep late, fish a little, play with your kids, take a siesta with your wife, and stroll to the village in the evenings where you could sip wine and play your guitar with your amigos …

What about now, Cassandra?” he asked, touching his hand to her left cheek, his other hand coming to rest on her slender waist. “Are you ready now? I must return to France to study. Come back with me. I can protect you. I will protect you. And I will try--I will do everything I can to make you happy.” Cass didn’t know what to say. She stared into Luca’s eyes--patient, warm, kind. He would be an excellent husband. An almost-perfect husband. But would he be the perfect husband for her? Cass didn’t know. Just then, something moved in the shadows. Instinctively, Cass tensed up. Her head whipped around as a figure emerged from the taverna behind them. It was Falco, holding a canvas sack over his shoulder. He froze, watching her and Luca, and Cass saw them as he must: standing close like lovers, their arms intertwined. He was still at a distance, but his stare radiated heat. Not anger, just his own peculiar energy. Luca did not appear to notice her attention had been distracted. “Will you go with me?” he prompted. “As my wife?” “I--” Cass looked up into Luca’s face. Her fiancé would love her and protect her. He understood pain and loyalty. He would die to keep her safe. Falco was moving now, walking toward the shoreline. Cass’s heart rose into her throat. Her first love. Falco understood her desire to be free from expectations. The man who would support her in living the life she wanted to live. But what life was that? Cass stood frozen, unable to decide. Luca was still staring at her expectantly. Falco reached the two of them, raising his blue eyes just long enough to give her a single soft look as he passed by. As Falco waved an arm to signal a passing fisherman, the sun dipped completely below the horizon.