The sea hath no king but God alone.

We are as near to heaven by sea as by land!

The snotgreen sea. The scrotumtightening sea.

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.

Seamen are the nearest to death and the furthest from God.

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

The life of a sailor is very unhealthy.

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.

Of all objects that I have ever seen, there is none which affects my imagination so much as the sea or ocean. A troubled ocean, to a man who sails upon it, is, I think, the biggest object that he can see in motion, and consequently gives his imagination one of the highest kinds of pleasure that can arise from greatness.

You never enjoy the world aright, till the sea itself floweth in your veins, till you are clothed with the heavens, and crowned with the stars.

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 sole business of a seaman onshore who has to go to sea again is to take as much pleasure as he can.

Tomorrow we take to the mighty sea.