“I'm right there, swimming the river of hardships but I know how to swim...”

“Swimming is normal for me. I'm relaxed. I'm comfortable, and I know my surroundings. It's my home.”

“If life is a river, then pursuing Christ requires swimming upstream. When we stop swimming, or actively following Him, we automatically begin to be swept downstream.”

“Leave it to the English to fabricate a lake,” she tossed over her shoulder to Carla, who snickered.“And leave it to the Italians to fall into it!”“I was retrieving my hat!”“Ah . . . that makes it all much more logical. Do you even know how to swim?”“Do I know how to swim?” she asked, and he took more than a little pleasure in her offense.“I was raised on the banks of the Adige! Which happens to be a real river.”“Impressive,” he said, not at all impressed. “And tell me, did you ever swim in said river?”“Of course! But I wasn’t wearing”—she waved a hand to indicate her dress—“sixteen layers of fabric!”“Why not?”“Because you don’t swim in sixteen layers of fabric!”“No?”“No!”“Why not?” He had her now.“Because you will drown!”“Ah,” he said, rocking back on his heels. “Well, at least we’ve learned something today.”

“I am like a lifeguard with the terrible, secret knowledge that he does not himself know how to swim.”

“All I do is track a profane route to something (I hope) profound. Like swimming a river of shit for a kiss.”