Light comes to us unexpectedly and obliquely. Perhaps it amuses the gods to try us. They want to see whether we are asleep.

It is better to obey the mysterious direction, without any fuss, when it points to a new road, however strange that road may be. There is probably as much reason for it, if the truth were known, as for anything else.

There is something about a voyage you are barely aware of while you are making it.

The right good book is always a book of travel; it is about a life's journey.

Most of us, I suppose, are a little nervous of the sea. No matter what its smiles may be, we doubt its friendship.

I do not love the sea. The look of it is disquieting. There is something in the very sound of it that stirs the premonition felt while we listen to noble music; we become inexplicably troubled.

There is precious little hope to be got out of whatever keeps us industrious, but there is a chance for us whenever we cease work and become stargazers.