He that commands the sea is at great liberty and may take as much and as little of the war as he will.

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.

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

Ships at a distance have every man’s wish on board.

The snotgreen sea. The scrotumtightening sea.

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.

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.

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.

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 fish for every man.

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

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