The three great elemental sounds in nature are the sound of rain, the sound of wind in a primeval wood, and the sound of outer ocean on a beach.
The sea, once it casts its spell, holds one in its net of wonder forever.
I could never stay long enough on the shore; the tang of the untainted, fresh, and free sea air was like a cool, quieting thought.
The voice of the sea speaks to the soul.
The sea does not reward those who are too anxious, too greedy, or too impatient. One should lie empty, open, choiceless as a beach - waiting for a gift from the sea.
Because there's nothing more beautiful than the way the ocean refuses to stop kissing the shoreline, no matter how many times it's sent away.
The voice of the sea speaks to the soul. The touch of the sea is sensuous, enfolding the body in its soft, close embrace.
When anxious, uneasy and bad thoughts come, I go to the sea, and the sea drowns them out with its great wide sounds, cleanses me with its noise, and imposes a rhythm upon everthing in me that is bewildered and confused.
The cure for anything is salt water: sweat, tears or the sea.
We ourselves feel that what we are doing is just a drop in the ocean. But the ocean would be less because of that missing drop.
We are tied to the ocean. And when we go back to the sea, whether it is to sail or to watch - we are going back from whence we came.
For whatever we lose (like a you or a me), It's always our self we find in the sea.
The ocean stirs the heart, inspires the imagination and brings eternal joy to the soul.
To me, the sea is like a person - like a child that I've known a long time. It sounds crazy, I know, but when I swim in the sea I talk to it. I never feel alone when I'm out there.
On the beach, you can live in bliss.
In every outthrust headland, in every curving beach, in every grain of sand there is the story of the earth.
Limitless and immortal, the waters are the beginning and end of all things on earth.
The sea lives in every one of us.
To me the sea is a continual miracle; The fishes that swim - the rocks - the motion of the waves - the ships, with men in them, what stranger miracles are there?
Even the upper end of the river believes in the ocean.
or simply:
