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

The wonderful sea charmed me from the first.

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

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

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

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.

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.

He that commands the sea is at great liberty and may take as much and as little of the war as he will.

Be not the slave of your own past. Plunge into the sublime seas, dive deep, and swim far, so shall you come back with self-respect, with new power, with an advanced experience that shall explain and overlook the old.

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.

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

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

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