““The other fish think me proud or discontented with my station. The birds think I'm beneath them. Even submerged I am out of my element, which I fear the Lord in his haste forgot to invent. I sent a letter to him once, pleading: make me this or make me that, limbo is hell upon a fish. I got a message back. It read: Don't despair, I made you purposely that way—bounding breathless into space, the way I made Adam and Eve, flitting between the field and ruined gardens of each other's airy arms.””
