The most advanced nations are always those who navigate the most.

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

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

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

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

Tomorrow we take to the mighty sea.

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

Anyone can hold the helm when the sea is calm.

As to the sea itself, love it you cannot. Why should you? I will never believe again the sea was ever loved by anyone whose life was married to it. It is the creation of omnipotence, which is not of humankind and understandable, and so the springs of its behavior are hidden.

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.

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

The power which the sea requires in the sailor makes a man of him very fast, and the change of shores and population clears his head of much nonsense of his wigwam.