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

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

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.

The legislator is like the navigator of a ship on the high seas. He can steer the vessel on which he sails, but he cannot alter its construction, raise the wind, or stop the waves from swelling beneath his feet.

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.

I wish to have no connection with any ship that does not sail fast, for I intend to go in harm’s way.

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.

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.

The snotgreen sea. The scrotumtightening sea.

The bathing was so delightful this morning, and Molly so pressing with me to enjoy myself, that I believe I stayed in rather too long, as since the middle of the day I have felt unreasonably tired. I shall be more careful another time, and shall not bathe tomorrow as I had before intended.

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

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