Tim Winton

I didn't even know why I liked her. She was just there. I was used to her.

I knew from hunting food the thing you need most of isn't water or ammo, it's patience.

I suspect I only really liked her because she liked me first.

For all those years when Loonie and I surfed together, having caught the bug that first morning at the Point, we never spoke about the business of beauty. We were mates but there were places our conversation simply couldn't go. There was never any doubt about the primary thrill of surfing, the huge body-rush we got flying down the line with the wind in our ears. We didn't know what endorphins were but we quickly understood how narcotic the feeling was, and how addictive it became; from day one I was stoned from just watching. We talked about skill and courage and luck - we shared all that, and in time we surfed to fool with death - but for me there was still the outlaw feeling of doing something graceful, as if dancing on water was the best and bravest thing a man could do.

Maybe old Pete-the-Post was right - you never really know anybody, not even those you loved. People have shadows, secrets.

Tomorrow'll be a new day. Which is really the same miserable fucking day all over again.

There isn't one thing in the world hot and hard as knowing there's someone waiting, coming, pressing, wanting you.

Oriel looked at the potatoes in her hand and thought of the things she'd like to tell the spud growers of Australia about taking a little time, a little pride and a little care.

Why was it that he didn't know a thing about the underlying nature of people, the shadows and shifts, the hungers and hopes that caused them to do the things they did?

"It does you good to be tenants. It reminds you of your own true position in the world."

Over the years Ida had fattened up. She sort of spread, like a garden gone wild.

"Ambition, Rose. It squeezes us into corners and turns out ugly shapes."