In 1992 Webb Chiles’s sloop sank, several miles off Fort Lauderdale. He expected to die. “I was calm,” he would write. “I was Socrates after drinking the hemlock, waiting for the numbness to move upward from my feet, asking, ‘Why should I fear death? For when I am, death is not. And when death is, I am not.’ Courage did not enter into this. I had lived a certain way, and it had brought me here. ‘Live passionately, even if it kills you, for something is going to kill you anyway,’ I had written; and now it would. ‘Intensity, not duration,’ I had written; but against all odds I had lasted fifty years.”