God isn’t going to scribble across the sky. “The shark is gone.

Intellectually, they knew a great deal. Practically, they chose to know almost nothing.

Hooper ladled chum, which sounded to Brody, every time it hit the water, like diarrhea.

I read very widely, both non-fiction and fiction, so I don’t think there’s a single writer who influences me.

Don’t go into the water if you’re bleeding – at all, from anything, anywhere on your body.

A terrible, painful sadness clutched at Ellen. More than ever before, she felt that her life – the best part of it, at least, the part that was fresh and fun – was behind her. Recognizing the sensation made her feel guilty, for she read it as proof that she was an unsatisfactory mother, an unsatisfied wife. She hated her life, and hated herself for hating it. She thought of a line from a song Billy played on the stereo: “I’d trade all my tomorrows for a single yesterday.

Suppose you fell over with this fish. Is there anything you could do? Sure. Pray. It’d be like falling out of an airplane without a parachute and hoping you’ll land in a haystack. The only thing that’d save you would be God, and since He pushed you overboard in the first place, I wouldn’t give a nickel for your chances.

I’m a babe in the woods when it comes to the Internet.

Brody felt a shimmy of fear skitter up his back. He was a very poor swimmer, and the prospect of being on top of – let alone in – water above his head give him what his mother used to call the wimwams: sweaty palms, a persistent need to swallow, and a ache in his stomach – essentially the sensation some people feel about flying. In Brody’s dreams, deep water was populated by slimy, savage things that rose from below and shredded his flesh, by demons that cackled and moaned.

To fantasies’, he said. ‘Tell me about yours.’ His eyes were a bright, liquid blue, and his lips were parted in a half smile.