A mystery of the universe is how it has managed to survive with so much volunteer help. Norman Maclean More Quotes by Norman Maclean More Quotes From Norman Maclean Each one of us here today will at one time in our lives look upon a loved one who is in need and ask the same question: We are willing to help, Lord, but what, if anything, is needed? For it is true we can seldom help those closest to us. Either we don't know what part of ourselves to give or, more often than not, the part we have to give is not wanted. And so it is those we live with and should know who elude us. But we can still love them - we can love completely without complete understanding. Norman Maclean god inspirational love Eventually, all things merge into one, and a river runs through it. The river was cut by the world's great flood and runs over rocks from the basement of time. On some of the rocks are timeless raindrops. Under the rocks are the words, and some of the words are theirs. I am haunted by waters. Norman Maclean rain time running All good things come by grace, and grace comes by art, and art does not come easy. Norman Maclean fishing grace art In our family, there was no clear line between religion and fly fishing. We lived at the junction of great trout rivers in western Montana, and our father was a Presbyterian minister and a fly fisherman who tied his own flies and taught others. He told us about Christ's disciples being fishermen, and we were left to assume, as my brother and I did, that all first-class fishermen on the Sea of Galilee were fly fishermen and that John, the favorite, was a dry-fly fisherman. Norman Maclean brother sea father Yet even in the loneliness of the canyon I knew there were others like me who had brothers they did not understand but wanted to help. We are probably those referred to as "our brother's keepers," possessed of one of the oldest and possible one of the most futile and certainly one of the most haunting instincts. It will not let us go. Norman Maclean haunting loneliness brother I had as yet no notion that life every now and then becomes literature—not for long, of course, but long enough to be what we best remember, and often enough so that what we eventually come to mean by life are those moments when life, instead of going sideways, backwards, forward, or nowhere at all, lines out straight, tense and inevitable, with a complication, climax, and, given some luck, a purgation, as if life had been made and not happened. Norman Maclean luck long mean Many of us would probably be better fishermen if we did not spend so much time watching and waiting for the world to become perfect Norman Maclean fishing waiting perfect The world is full of bastards, the number increasing rapidly the further one gets from Missoula, Montana. Norman Maclean montana numbers world Eventually, all things merge into one, and a river runs through it. Norman Maclean fishing rivers running At sunrise everything is luminous but not clear. Norman Maclean elude-you elude-us sunrise Poets talk about "spots of time", but it is really the fishermen who experience eternity compressed into a moment. No one can tell what a spot of time is until suddenly the whole world is a fish and the fish is gone. Norman Maclean fishing gone world At sunrise everything is luminous but not clear. It is those we live with and love and should know who elude us. You can love completely without complete understanding. Norman Maclean elude-you elude-us love The nearest anyone can come to finding himself at any given age is to find a story that somehow tells him about himself. Norman Maclean given age stories At the time I did not know that stories of life are often more like rivers than books. Norman Maclean stories rivers book One great thing about fly fishing is that after a while nothing exists of the world but thoughts about fly fishing Norman Maclean fly-fishing fishing world We can love completely what we cannot completely understand. Norman Maclean A river, though, has so many things to say that it is hard to know what it says to each of us. Norman Maclean environmental rivers water I sat there and forgot and forgot, until what remained was the river that went by and I who watched. On the river the heat mirages danced with each other and then they danced through each other and then they joined hands and danced around each other. Eventually the water joined the river, and there was only one of us. I believe it was the river. Norman Maclean rivers believe hands My father was very sure about certain matters pertaining to the universe. To him all good things-trout as well as eternal salvation-come by grace and grace comes by art and art does not come easy. Norman Maclean fishing father art 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. Norman Maclean summer memories thinking
