Sublime

You are killing me, fish, the old man thought. But you have a right to. Never have I seen a greater, or more beautiful, or a calmer or more noble thing than you, brother. Come on and kill me. I do not care who kills who. Now you are getting confused in the head, he thought. You must keep your head clear. Keep your head clear and know how to suffer

Bullet lodged in his thigh, and he was no doctor; nor was anything that lived in his wood. Well, there it was. He’d live or not. If he lived, he’d manage, and if he died, he’d die in the shadow of the old oak. Maybe it was time. He’d seen nearly four hundred summers come and go by now.

“so you should try to get old.”

He clapped his hands, shook his old head. "If only there had been a child!" He was a product of St. Paul's and Harvard, but it pleased him to speak with the split-banjo twang of a Rosewater County hog farmer.

His grandfather was a Scottish immigrant who made his drinking money by boxing in bars. The Scotsman trained his son, Walter’s dad, to slip jabs and throw mean right hooks, hoping the boy would one day fight for a real title. But Walter’s dad was an asthmatic and, instead of going the distance, he ended up repairing refrigerators for a living.

‘Folk hero.’ I sipped at the beer. ‘Where is John Wayne now that we really need him?’ ‘John Wayne?’ He shook his head. ‘I never went in the can, you know. I’m no expert at military history.’ ‘Forget it.’

one of the privileges given to those who’ve avoided dying young is the blessed right to grow old.

Ils parlaient la nuit ou quand ils étaient pris dans un coup de chien. En mer, ne pas parler inutilement était tenu pour une vertu ; le vieil homme le pensait et s’en faisait un principe. Mais à présent il exprimait souvent ses pensées tout haut puisqu’il n’y avait personne que cela pût gêner.