The life of a sailor is very unhealthy.

He who travels by sea is nothing but a worm on a piece of wood, a trifle in the midst of a powerful creation. The waters play about with him at will, and no one but God can help him.

I wish to have no connection with any ship that does not sail fast, for I intend to go in harm’s way.

I must be a mermaid, Rango. I have no fear of depths and a great fear of shallow living.

The sole business of a seaman onshore who has to go to sea again is to take as much pleasure as he can.

A fair complexion is unbecoming to a sailor: he ought to be swarthy from the waters of the sea and the rays of the sun.

Tomorrow we take to the mighty sea.

Alone, alone, all, all alone, / Alone on a wide, wide sea!

Of all objects that I have ever seen, there is none which affects my imagination so much as the sea or ocean. A troubled ocean, to a man who sails upon it, is, I think, the biggest object that he can see in motion, and consequently gives his imagination one of the highest kinds of pleasure that can arise from greatness.

The winds and the waves are always on the side of the ablest navigators.

But look, our seas are what we make of them, full of fish or not, opaque or transparent, red or black, high or smooth, narrow or bankless—and we are ourselves sea, sand, coral, seaweed, beaches, tides, swimmers, children, waves.

He who commands the sea has command of everything.

The sea hath no king but God alone.