Joy.

... the late afternoon sail so exquisite, the sun sight so perfect, the wind so regular (temperature just right), I played the piano a bit before dinner. Not easy because when the boat rocks I need to exert great pressure through my knees on the underside of the keyboard to keep from falling over backward, and the additional challenge to coordination is enough to make the sounds that result a travesty on the Bach partita I am, as usual, struggling with. I left the piano and put on the cassette player, a late Beethoven sonata, as we sat down for a dinner of turkey and stuffing, wine, cheese, fruit and coffee. I thought I would try to say something about the difference between the late and the early Beethoven.

You have shortened sail just a little, because you want more steadiness than you are going to get at this speed, the wind up to twenty-two, twenty-four knots, and it is late at night, and there are only two of you in the cockpit. You are moving at racing speed, parting the buttery sea as with a scalpel, and waters roar by, themselves exuberantly subdued by your powers to command your way through them. Triumphalism ... and the stars also seem to be singing together for joy.

William F. Buckley, Jr.

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