Fletcher turned to his instructor, and there was a moment of fright in his eye. Me leading? What do you mean, me leading? You’re the instructor here. You couldn’t leave!... You’re the instructor here. You couldn’t leave!...

...Jonathan sighed and looked out to sea. You don’t need me any longer. You need to keep finding yourself, a little more each day, that real, unlimited Fletcher Seagull. He’s your instructor. You need to understand him and to practise him.

A moment later Jonathan’s body wavered in the air, shimmering and began to go transparent. Don’t let them spread silly rumours about me, or make me a god. O.K. Fletch? I’m a seagull. I like to fly, maybe...

Jonathan Livingston Seagull
by Richard Bach

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• A Man for All Seasons