Nobody is so heartily despised as a pusillanimous, lazy, good-for-nothing, land-lubber; a sailor has no bowels of compassion for him.

It is not for man to follow the trail of truth too far, since by so doing he entirely loses the directing compass of his mind.

In childhood, death stirred me not; in middle age, it pursued me like a prowling bandit on the road; now, grown an old man, it boldly leads the way, and ushers me on.

flight from tyranny does not of itself insure a safe asylum, far less a happy home.

To treat of human actions is to deal wholly with second causes.

As for me, I am tormented with an everlasting itch for things remote. I love to sail forbidden seas, and land on barbarous coasts.

We cannot live for ourselves alone.