page 66 old man and the sea

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.  Life on the edge can be rough around.

I wish he'd sleep and I could sleep and dream about the lions, he thought admirably.  Life is a texture.  Why are the lions the main thing that is left?  Why am I wondering this?  Who is wondering about myself wondering about lions if not myself?  Are there two people inside of me?  Don't think, old man, he said to himself.  There must be two people inside me.  Look: I just said something to myself.  It's a fact.  I proved it again.  Rest gently now against the wood and think of nothing.  He is working.  Work as little as you can.  Never work.  Never work.  Who is thinking "never work?"  Is it strange that I am telling myself to not think?  Who is inside me commanding and who is inside me obeying? And who the hell is this person thinking about commanding and obeying?  How many people are there inside me?  How is it that I do anything and what the hell am I anyway?  I think this fish must be damn smart.  Never work.  He is working.  I must not work.  Who is it who is telling me to not work?  I was right when I called myself a "strange old man" two paragraphs up.