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

The Thames is a wretched river after the Mersey and the ships are not like Liverpool ships and the docks are barren of beauty ... it is a beastly hole after Liverpool; for Liverpool is the town of my heart and I would rather sail a mudflat there than command a clipper out of London

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

People who leave their own time out of their work cannot be surprised if their time fails to find them interesting.

The days that make us happy make us wise

All I ask is a tall ship and a star to sail her by.

But he has gone, A nation's memory and veneration, Among the radiant, ever venturing on, Somewhere, with morning, as such spirits will.