And a rock feels no pain
And an island never cries

Nothing that happens on the surface of the sea can alter the calm of its depths

All's well that ends well.

On the surface of the ocean, men wage war and destroy each other; but down here, just a few feet beneath the surface, there is a calm and peace, unmolested by man

Everything's fine today, that is our illusion.

All shall be well.

We all float down here!

She walked on, comforted by the surf, by the one perpetual moment of beach-time, the now-and-always of it.

We think it is calm here, or that our storm is the right size.

Don't worry about a thing, every little thing is gonna be alright.

I Go Down To The Shore

I go down to the shore in the morning
and depending on the hour the waves
are rolling in or moving out,
and I say, oh, I am miserable,
what shall — what should I do? And the sea says
in its lovely voice:
Excuse me, I have work to do.

But all will be well, and all will be well, and every kind of thing will be well.

Between us and the bottom of the sea was less than an inch of wood. And yet, I aver it, and I aver it again, I was unafraid.

For here rolls the sea, and even here lies the other shore waiting to be reached — yes, here is this everlasting present, not distant, not anywhere else.