The ocean moans over dead men's bones.
A body of water occupying about two-thirds of a world made for man, who has no gills.
Roll on, deep and dark blue ocean, roll. Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain. Man marks the earth with ruin, but his control stops with the shore.
Praise the sea; on shore remain.
He that will learn to pray, let him go to sea.
I must go down to the sea again, to the lonely sea and the sky; and all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by.
The sea complains upon a thousand shores.
The only cure for seasickness is to sit on the shady side of a church in the country.
The ocean is a mighty harmonist.