There is something peculiar in a small boat upon the wide sea. Over the lives borne from under the shadow of death there seems to fall the shadow of madness. When your ship fails you, your whole world seems to fail you; the world that made you, restrained you, had taken care of you. It is as if the souls of men floating on an abyss and in touch with immensity had been set free from any excess of heroism, absurdity, or abomination.
— Joseph Conrad, Lord Jim
I can finally see
When there is nothing to see
When there is no chance of land or shore
Only squalls or tempest
Or placid waters that lap upon the rotting timbers
Of this, my only home.