Arthur Ransome

No one can sail through a pinewood.

Houses are but badly built boats so firmly aground that you cannot think of moving them.

The news was so good that it made them solemn.

It begins as a little cloud on a serene horizon. It ends by covering the whole sky, so that you can think of nothing else.

You can be wide awake, and not see a thing when you aren’t looking.

Fools build and wise men buy.

But still, a cannon is a cannon and ships with no secrets do not usually carry even one.

“Shore,” he would say, “I have enough of shore at home.”

They lay there, making plans as if they were going to be on the island all their lives.

“If grub runs out, eat the Cook.”

Sometimes our cook is quite friendly, for a native. She calls it lemonade.

Spar-buoys are the loneliest things in the sea.

The dark came fast overhead. Stars shone out.

No misfortunes at sea are enjoyable in themselves. He is a liar who says they are and he is a fool who courts them.

The Swallows were back in real life, almost before they were out of sight of the charcoal-burners.

Racundra took care of her skipper, who was far too tired to take care of himself.

Mother might be a native, but it was all right to kiss her none the less.

I cannot believe that any man who has looked out to sea from Reval castle rock can ever be wholly happy unless he has a boat.

But who would wave a flag to be rescued if they had a desert island of their own?

Nothing will tame the prehensile tendencies of tarpaulins.