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.

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.

Many, many steeples would have to be stacked one on top of another to reach from the bottom to the surface of the sea. It is down there that the sea folk live.

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.

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.

Anyone can hold the helm when the sea is calm.

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

Alone, alone, all, all alone, / Alone on a wide, wide sea!

What will not attract a man’s stare at sea?—a gull, a turtle, a flying fish!

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

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

The life of a sailor is very unhealthy.