You are killing me, fish, the old man thought. But you have a right to. Never have I seen a greater, or more beautiful, or a calmer or more noble thing than you, brother. Come on and kill me. I do not care who kills who.
He was too simple to wonder when he had attained humility. But he knew he had attained it and he knew it was not disgraceful and it carried no loss of true pride.
The thousand times that he had proved it meant nothing. Now he was proving it again. Each time was a new time and he never thought about the past when he was doing it.
“Fish,” he said, “I love you and respect you very much. But I will kill you dead before this day ends.” Let us hope so, he thought.
Now is no time to think of what you do not have. Think of what you can do with what there is.
Everything about him was old except his eyes and they were the same color as the sea and were cheerful and undefeated.
But, thank God, they are not as intelligent as we who kill them; although they are more noble and more able.
It is better to be lucky. But I would rather be exact. Then when luck comes you are ready.
“But man is not made for defeat,” he said. “A man can be destroyed but not defeated.”
No one should be alone in their old age, he thought. But it is unavoidable.