Ship Steering Wheel Quotes

Sea-fever I must down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky, And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by, And the wheel's kick and the wind's song and the white sail's shaking, And a grey mist on the sea's face, and a grey dawn breaking. I must down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied; And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying, And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying. I must down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life, To the gull's way and the whale's way where the wind's like a whetted knife; And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick's over.

There was nothing in life harder or more important than agreeing every morning to stay the course, to go back to your forgotten self of so many years ago, and to make the same decision. Marriages, like ships, needed steering, and steady hands at the wheel.

It's not that deep down I want someone to "take care of me," it's that I'm exhausted, and occasionally overwhelmed by self-doubt. I'm steering the ship, but I don't know what I'm doing. None of us do. But it would be *so nice* to believe that someone out there did, and that maybe they could take the wheel for a little while.

It’s not that deep down I want someone to “take care of me,” it’s that I’m exhausted, and occasionally overwhelmed by self-doubt. I’m steering the ship, but I don’t know what I’m doing. None of us do. But it would be so nice to believe that someone out there did, and that maybe they could take the wheel for a little while. It’s a seductive feeling. It would be great if it were real. But I guess I’ve got to count on myself. Which is not great news.

I should be steering this ship away from him, but my arms refused to turn the wheel.

Steer your wheel right and the ship shall sail across the ocean to the pearl you search…

Even steering a boat can be dangerous. In heavy seas it might take six or seven men to control the tiller of a very large vessel, and they have to do this below deck, without being able to see the sea and the sky. You will not find a ship’s wheel anywhere—it has not been invented yet.

While driving, we think, even for just a moment, about jerking the steering wheel into oncoming traffic or leaping off the balcony of a ship and into the abyss of the black water below. They’re passing thoughts and little dares we allow our psyche, because we’re tired of not living and we want the fear. We want to remember why we want to live. And some of us were more tempted than others at the thrill of how, in the moment, everything could change. Of how it’s not about who we are but what we are, and animals don’t apologize for whatever they need to do to survive.

While driving, we think, even for just a moment, about jerking the steering wheel into oncoming traffic or leaping off the balcony of a ship and into the abyss of the black water below. They’re passing thoughts and little dares we allow our psyche, because we’re tired of not living and we want the fear. We want to remember why we want to live.

What the hell was that?!" Tom asked, fighting his way to his feet. "That..was not normal," Bram said, gripping the wheel like he was afraid to let go. "I modified the engine somewhat," Renfield confessed. That grin started sneaking back onto his face. "Modifications?" Gram asked. He slowly released his death grip on the steering wheel and turned around to look at Ren. "What modifications?" "Modification." Ren really stressed the shun at the end of the word. "I just removed the governor. I told you some parts needed to come out. You were there when I did it!" "The what?" I asked. Bram stared at Renfield, his expression going completely slack. "You did what? I didn't see you...You did what?" "What's a governor?" "You didn't," Tom said, voice filled with awe. "You are not telling me that you left a piece of the engine behind on the ground. " Renfield sighed and turned to address me, waving a hand casually. "The governor, on an airship engine, caps the maximum speed the engine can achieve. So,by taking the governor off, I've allowed us to go much faster." "And then we'll blow up!" Bram yelled. "Because you took a safety valve off!" "You've turned the ship into a freaking death trap!" Tom shouted. "It isn't critical. We just have to be mindful of the engine pressure ourselves, that's all! Trust me, she can take it!

Sometimes difficulty clarifies things. And sometimes realizing that the road you’ve chosen is a demanding one gives you the courage to stay on that road. It reveals the nature of our relationship with God. It sounds cute and comforting to say “God is in control,” and people who say that may imagine sitting on their daddy’s lap behind the wheel of the family car, going “Vroom vroomy vroom!” while Daddy does the steering. In reality, when God is in control, it feels more like one of those movies where some amateur has to step up and land the airplane or steer the ship to safety through a crashing storm, with an expert giving them instructions remotely through a headset. In theory, following the expert’s instructions will help us get in safely; but our fear, panic, self-doubt, and lack of skill are not exactly comforting. Yes, God is in control, but we’re the ones who are in for a rough ride.

BESTIARY " charybdis: when i suck in / i make deadly / whirlpools / ask anyone who’s managed / to climb out / alive dragon: patrol or pillage / he exhales and a whole village / burns / iron scaled sentry / guardian of the ivory / tower i wrap my legs around / everyone thinks / he’s a brute / but for me / he lifts his breast plate / for me he welcome the quiver / and the arrow’s teeth. golem: take his hair in your hands / his dead / skin cells / his discarded undergarments / take them / and make of them a new boy this effigy / his likeness and nothing / like him / breathe life into its clenched carapace // my god / i think i saw it / move medusa: when i saw / my face / reflected in terror / in his eyes / i turned to stone / or a pillar of salt watching my village burn / he was the village burning / maybe that’s a different story / maybe in the end only the snakes wept siren: he cries / and i / lashed to the mast of a ship / steer my body toward the sound / sheets bound around wrists and ankles tears make grief / a lighthouse you wear / when i hear him a huge wood wheel turns in my stomach / and i break / open on / his jagged coast werewolf: there are many words for transformation / metamorphosis metaphor / medication / go to sleep / beside the man you love wake up next to a dog / maybe the moon brought it out of him hound hungry for blood / maybe its your fault / or maybe it was there inside him / howling all along

He describes sailing across mountainous seas, lashed to the wheel the bare rigging overhead dancing with blue electricity, St Elmo's fire the sailors called it. His clothes so saturated with the salt water he can barely stand, would fall if he weren’t tied up. The ship heaves in the heavy swells and the waves crash endlessly over the deck. Anything that wasn't tied down has long slid into the churning maelstrom including three crewmembers that didn’t lash themselves up in time. He holds the wheel and steers so the prow is climbing the huge wave that has blotted out the storm clouds, so tall the ship is almost vertical as it crests the wave and slides down into the next tumultuous surge. He tells how he screams into the storm knowing that the sound will be snatched away almost before it escapes his mouth and will become lost in the turmoil. ‘There is no skill in manning your ship through seas that can smash it as though it were nothing but brittle planks of wood.’ Andre says, ‘Captains will boast of their prowess in a storm but you survive purely by the capricious will of the sea. She decides if you live or die, and in that situation all you can do is hold on for the ride and feel privileged that she has allowed you to see her at her most powerful.

I’m steering the ship, but I don’t know what I’m doing. None of us do. But it would be so nice to believe that someone out there did, and that maybe they could take the wheel for a little while.

We sailed from Coquimbo with a strong northerly wind, and passed the latitude of Cape Horn in ten or twelve days from port, when, taking a strong, westerly gale, we scudded past under a close-reefed main topsail, and reefed foresail, with a fearful sea sweeping after, every wave having a most ominous look as it rose high above the taffrail, but our good barque seemed to realize the danger, and rose to each mountain of water as light and graceful as a bird. Squalls of snow and hail, beating fiercely upon us, followed each other in rapid succession, while two men at the wheel had all the work they could do to keep the barque before it, yet she was not a hard-steering craft.

Steer your wheel right and the ship shall assail across the ocean to the pearl you search…

Sea-Fever I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky, And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by, And the wheel’s kick and the wind’s song and the white sail’s shaking, And a grey mist on the sea’s face and a grey dawn breaking. I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied; And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying, And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the seagulls crying. I must go down to the seas again to the vagrant gypsy life, To the gull’s way and the whale’s way where the wind’s like a whetted knife; And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover, And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick’s over.