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

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

In all the ancient states and empires, those who had the shipping, had the wealth.

All streams run to the sea, but the sea is not full.

I never even saw the use of the sea. Many a sad heart has it caused, and many a sick stomach has it occasioned! The boldest sailor climbs on board with a heavy soul and leaps on land with a light spirit.

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.

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

The sea yields action to the body, meditation to the mind, the world to the world, all parts thereof to each part, by this art of arts—navigation.

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.

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

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

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

The sea receives us in a proper way only when we are without clothes.