“The lake of my mind, unbroken by oars, heaves placidly and soon sinks into an oily somnolence.’ That will be useful.”

“I contempleted the lake; the waters were placid, all around was calm and the snowy mountains... the calm and heavenly scene restored me and I continued my journey toward Geneva.”

“I plugged the hole up with my thumb, so at least I wouldn’t sink. But it was really uncomfortable floating on that lake with my thumb up my ass.”

“The dancer...knows it takesTen sacred years to learn one gestureOf the wind’s caress on the skin of water.Tonight, in the shadows of our dance,I tell my soul to grow quiet,Become lake, reflect unbroken moon.On the deepest part of the lake,A solitary fisher paddles his oars.At the shore, a woman in red sarongSings: their longing walks on water.”

“How had she ever thought his blue eyes placid as a lake? But there was untold power in any water: to buoy, to drown, to toss, to carry one to the safety of shore.”

“And she swung the old oar at him with all her strength.It hit with a great thwack, splintering in two, and he went over the side, into the dark, cold waters of the lake, sinking like a stone.It took her two seconds. And then she let out a scream for help, tossing the broken oar away from her, and jumped into the water after him.It was very cold, numbingly so, and as it closed over her head she grabbed forhim, wrapping her arms around his body, ready to sink to the bottom with him.Instead he kicked, pushing them up so that they broke the surface, his armclamped around hers as she struggled. "Jesus, woman!" he snapped. "When did we have to become Romeo and Juliet?”