We wore the long-billed silly-looking caps of straw Virginia had bought for us so we’d look like tourists. She said if we were going to look like tourists we might as well get accustomed to looking silly, because that was the biggest part of it, a kind of over-all silliness. I thought that was pretty smart. And I still do.

Before I became rich it was only a matter of hanging onto life, a good, rugged, animalistic, instinctive thing that kept me hard and on my toes. This was different, this petulant, craven business of sweating over my wealth, and over what it was doing to Virginia.

I think if God were to say to me: “Kenneth, I’m going to let you take your pick and live again any incident in your life that gave you a particular bang,” I’d pick that one on the edge of the hole when, after forcing ourselves to look into it, we felt as if we’d rid ourselves of some loathsome disease. I remember the only thing that worried me then

There was the damnedest sunset, smeared like sirup of opals over everything and dripping off the clouds the way the molten metal comes out of the ladle in a steel mill.

And I felt so marvelously clean and soaped and so in tune with the whole damned universe that I had the feeling I could have clouded up and rained and lightninged myself, and blown that cheese-colored room to smithereens.

“Does it ever bother you a lot, darling, that I am what I am?” “No.” I kissed her on the nose and it was cold and innocent as a button. “Honestly, Tim?” “No, the only time you bother me is when you’re not what you are.” “That’s a lovely thing to say.” “I’m not trying to be lovely. I’m telling you what I think.”

“Baby, just about anywhere you die there’s somebody watching. It doesn’t make any difference whether they’re watching you die in bed or in a chair, somebody’s going to be there. It’s strictly a spectator sport.”

“Virginia!” “What, Tim?” “I don’t know too much about loving, honestly loving, but I think I love you.” “You’re drunk, Tim, drunk on sunshine and exercise and having a woman all to yourself.” “No. I feel funny about you.” “Then you’re crazy.” “Of course, but that has nothing to do with it. I want to make you happy, so I guess I love you.” “Tim,

A good Southern fly fisherman is the best there is, because he’s used to watching out for cotton-mouths with one eye and trees and bushes and yellow jackets and God knows what all with the other, and making the cast by feel and prayer.