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A boat, like a woman, has to excite and incite you to dream. If it doesn’t, just walk away.
Prisons come in many different guises, the most common being filled to capacity by the self-committed.
I existed somewhere between yesterday’s memories and tomorrow’s expectations. The time allotted by the gods to a sedentary man with a sedentary mind can be too much; and yet, for a seeker, it is never enough.
The blessed, timeless quality of the sea is that, while man has conquered the continents with a lasting presence, at sea, the evidence of our passages, ancient and modern, are erased in the moments of a ship’s vanishing wake.
The gypsies of both the land and the sea know the rule: never ask permission, never be denied.
To know a thing you must see it first, and to see you must look with an open mind.
You can always drive to your destination, but a true journey is made on foot.
It’s a strange thing to dream of faraway places, only to find when I reach them, I am dreaming of home. The affliction of the dreamer, I suppose.
The sea, especially in its moments of fury, demands first your attention, then your endurance, and finally your patience and acceptance. If you lack this capacity, the sea will soon find you out and make it known to you that the shore is where you should make your home.
True loneliness, at least as I’ve known it, is more keenly felt when you are among people but remain detached from them. The loneliness of the sea had not much entered my mind before. Out here I did not expect human companionship and it was little missed.
The thin line of a barely discernible trail snaked its way among the rocks up to a pass called the Gates of Chaos. How could a traveler not march directly toward anything with such an intriguing name?
“The only way to catch VD in the pool,” the doctor explained over and over, “is if you are doing something other than swimming in it.”