Praise be to Nero's Neptune
The Titanic sails at dawn
And everybody's shouting
"Which read more

Praise be to Nero's Neptune
The Titanic sails at dawn
And everybody's shouting
"Which Side Are You On?"
And Ezra Pound and T.S. Eliot
Fighting in the captain's tower
While calypso singers laugh at them
And fishermen hold flowers.

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.

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.

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.]

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.

Oh, the gallant fisher's life,
It is the best of any
'Tis full of pleasure, void of read more

Oh, the gallant fisher's life,
It is the best of any
'Tis full of pleasure, void of strife,
And 'tis beloved of many.

The fisher droppeth his net in the stream,
And a hundred streams are the same as one;
read more

The fisher droppeth his net in the stream,
And a hundred streams are the same as one;
And the maiden dreameth her love-lit dream;
And what is it all, when all is done?
The net of the fisher the burden breaks,
And always the dreaming the dreamer wakes.

Death is like a fisherman, who, having caught a fish in his net,
leaves it in the water for read more

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.

I am, Sir, a brother of the angle.

I am, Sir, a brother of the angle.