Seafarers go to sleep in the evening not knowing whether they will find themselves at the bottom of the sea the next morning.

Ocean. A body of water occupying about two-thirds of a world made for man—who has no gills.

The Mediterranean has the colors of a mackerel, changeable I mean. You don’t always know if it is green or violet—you can’t even say it’s blue, because the next moment the changing light has taken on a tinge of pink or gray.

It is He who has subdued the ocean so that you may eat of its fresh fish and bring up from its depth ornaments to wear. Behold the ships plowing their course through it. All this, that you may seek His bounty and render thanks.

The snotgreen sea. The scrotumtightening sea.

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.

Never trust her at any time when the calm sea shows her false alluring smile.

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

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.

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

Seaward ho! Hang the treasure! It’s the glory of the sea that has turned my head.

We are as near to heaven by sea as by land!

Being thus arrived in good harbor, and brought safe to land, they fell upon their knees and blessed the God of heaven who had brought them over the vast and furious ocean and delivered them from all the perils and miseries thereof, again to set their feet on the firm and stale earth, their proper element.