"Claiming there is no other life in the universe is like scooping up some water, looking at the cup and claiming there are no whales in the ocean."
"Surfers don’t look like other people. Their bodies—whether adolescent, statuesque, or carnivalesque—reflect the work they do, becoming mostly sets of paddling arms and shoulders, with strong backs from arching up while prone. Likewise, the way surfers carry themselves: even huge men acquire a litheness that only water athletes ever get, a loose nimbleness from so much dancing on a surging medium. And their faces carry traces of what they’ve seen. Surfers like to watch—water, waves, weather, one another’s play—so their eyes reflect a lifetime’s gazing. The world over, daily surf checks mean standing at a particular pier or breakwater or dune—or even just in the room with the best window—and staring out into the sea: judging the waves, certainly, but also looking into the inhuman vast for something that might make the rest worthwhile. Thus, perhaps, the calm, thousand-yard stares of all the sunburnt men in these portraits, men who’ve looked to sea for so long, they seem still to be looking there, even as their eyes turn inland."
"I don’t think people love me. They love versions of me I have spun for them, versions of me they have construed in their minds. The easy versions of me, the easy parts of me to love."