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    Death is like a fisherman, who, having caught a fish in his net,
    leaves it in the water for a time; the fish continues to swim
    about, but all the while the net is round it, and the fishermen
    will snatch it out in his own good time.

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  25  /  37  

The fisherman could perhaps be bought for less than the fish.
[Lat., Potuit fortasse minoria
Piscator quam read more

The fisherman could perhaps be bought for less than the fish.
[Lat., Potuit fortasse minoria
Piscator quam piscis emi.]

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  15  /  21  

A fisherman's walk: three steps and overboard.

A fisherman's walk: three steps and overboard.

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  27  /  23  

Can the fish love the fisherman?
[Lat., Piscatorem piscis amare potest?]

Can the fish love the fisherman?
[Lat., Piscatorem piscis amare potest?]

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  15  /  23  

He who holds the hook is aware in what waters many fish are
swimming.
[Lat., Qui sustinet hamos,
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He who holds the hook is aware in what waters many fish are
swimming.
[Lat., Qui sustinet hamos,
Novit, quae multo pisce natentur aquae.]

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  18  /  32  

This dish of meat is too good for any but anglers, or very honest
men.

This dish of meat is too good for any but anglers, or very honest
men.

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  29  /  42  

And he saith unto them, Follow me, and I will make you fishers of
men.

And he saith unto them, Follow me, and I will make you fishers of
men.

by Bible Found in: Fishermen Quotes,
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  34  /  29  

I am, Sir, a brother of the angle.

I am, Sir, a brother of the angle.

by Izaak Walton Found in: Fishermen Quotes,
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  12  /  33  

No man is born an Artist nor an Angler.

No man is born an Artist nor an Angler.

by Izaak Walton Found in: Fishermen Quotes,
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  46  /  41  

Of course, now I am too old to be much of a fisherman, and now of
course I usually read more

Of course, now I am too old to be much of a fisherman, and now of
course I usually fish the big waters alone, although some friends
think I shouldn't. Like many fly fishermen in western Montana
where the summer days are almost Arctic in length, I often do not
start fishing until the cool of the evening. Then in the Arctic
half-light of the canyon, all existence fades to a being with my
soul and memories and the sounds of the Big Blackfoot River and a
four-count rhythm and the hope that a fish will rise.

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