And may we find when ended is the page, Death but a tavern on our pilgrimage.

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.

To most of us the future seems unsure. But then it always has been; and we who have seen great changes must have great hopes.

It is too maddening. I've got to fly off, right now, to some devilish navy yard, 3 hours in a seasick steamer, & after being heartily sick, I'll have to speak 3 times, & then be sick coming home. Still, who would not be sick for England?

Off Cape Horn there are but two kinds of weather, neither one of them a pleasant kind.

Oh some are fond of Spanish wine, and some are fond of French.

In this life he laughs longest who laughs last.