The breaking of a wave cannot explain the whole sea.

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

Ashore it’s wine, women, and song; aboard it’s rum, bum, and concertina.

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.

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

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.

The sea hath no king but God alone.

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.

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.

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.