Take back your golden fiddles, and we’ll beat to open sea.

Why is a ship under sail more poetical than a hog in a high wind? The hog is all nature, the ship is all art.

I’ve been bathing in the poem / Of star-infused and milky sea / Devouring the azure greens.

You never enjoy the world aright, till the sea itself floweth in your veins, till you are clothed with the heavens, and crowned with the stars.

Be not the slave of your own past. Plunge into the sublime seas, dive deep, and swim far, so shall you come back with self-respect, with new power, with an advanced experience that shall explain and overlook the old.

The snotgreen sea. The scrotumtightening sea.

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

The sea hath no king but God alone.

Tomorrow we take to the mighty sea.

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.

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

I am ill every time it blows hard, and nothing but my enthusiastic love for the profession keeps me one hour at sea.

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