Now I remembered a captain’s honor and his only duty: to bring his crew back alive.

That’s the strange thing about a good story. No pleasure if you can’t share it.

… The women’s song was always the same, as monotonous as the beating of the waves against the beach: loss, loss. The conch offered them no enchantment. When they put their ear to it, all...

Without discussing it with his mother, Anton went up to his teacher, Miss Katballe, and informed her that after seven years he was now quitting school. It was the best day of her life, she...

Though I had no respect for Jack Lewis, I respected the hole in his chest. He was dying, and you owe the dying your attention.

With no other choices open to us, we’d turned our gaze seaward. The oceans were our America: they reached farther than any prairie, untamed as on the first day of creation. Nobody owned them.

Everyone in our town has a story–but it’s not the one he tells himself. Its author has a thousand eyes, a thousand ears, and five hundred pens that never stop scribbling.

Having a child isn’t a deal you strike with life. As I said: a child is a gift. And what remains after a child is gone is the memory of the years it was allowed...

Is there anything more heartbreaking than drowning in sight of land? Is there a single one of us who hasn’t at least once felt haunted by the fear of slipping away within sight of a...

Many years ago there lived a man called Laurids Madsen who went up to heaven and came down again thanks to his boots.