Ocean

The ocean is a dream; it is the huge, unknowable part of life on earth. It's giant, it's dark, it's dangerous, and it's comforting. It's both mother and grave. I wish I lived near the ocean.

Salt water that covers seventy percent of the earth's surface.

When you're a geography major, Oceanic is a word used to describe an ocean. Now I'm an English major. Oceanic is a good adjective to use in a poem when describing anything but an ocean.

What makes the vastness of the ocean so impressive is that I'm looking at only the top of it.

Ocean Spray is a co-operative of cranberry farmers. Fully exploiting the market potential of the cranberry is probably a serious business if you have a cranberry smallholding.

The ocean purrs and whispers
As it grinds against the sand
It turns and tosses
With discontent
But never pulls its losses to the deep

»Do you ever miss the sea?« Sam asked.

Harry stopped chopping celery and looked out the window. How could he explain it to Sam? Sam, who had lived all his life in this village. Sam, who went once a year for a weekend at the coast.

The sea was in his blood. He heard the ocean call to him with the roar of its waves and the salt of its air. Every night he lay down to sleep with the thought that this would be his last night on land, tomorrow he would...

He shook his head. »Not really, Sam.«

you can't describe the ocean to a frog that's spent it's whole life in a well.

I am always stunned into silence looking at the ocean and realising that I'm seeing only the top of it.

The ocean provides surf to all those worthy of it.