The Prince of Tides

by Pat Conroy

“You girls don’t know what we menfolk put ourselves through to become fat shits.”

a fortress and eyes that had peered at the world from battlements too long.

quotidian affairs of humankind. And such

Moslem hands in prayer. Do you understand

passage toward the barrier islands. Each day of his life in season was a duplication of the day before; tomorrow would always be an encore of today’s labor; yesterday would always be a rehearsal for a thousand future days, an elaboration on proven habits of excellence.

and it sang to the town in soft canticles

The sun, exhausted, caught one building whole in its last sight and imparted the hues of a coral reef in a thousand grateful windows, then slid down that building from window to window, losing itself halfway down as the whole city rose like a firebird into the singing night. The city shook off the last foils of sunset and in a thrown-back, overreaching ecstasy transformed itself into an amazing candelabrum of asymmetrical light.

My senses deepened, ignited, and I was fully alive, like something not quite human staring into the eyes of God on the first day of Eden. I could feel the breath of God running like light through my bloodstream.

There was a small sailboat and a small bateau