Joy on the open sea.

AH, but the sea always has something lying in wait for you. Perhaps, in my last years, I'll deny it the opportunity to vex me. But if so, how can I draw from it those fleeted moments? You have shortened sail just a little, because you want more steadiness than you are going to get at this speed, the wind up to twenty-two, twenty-four knots, and it is late at night, and there are only two of you in the cockpit. You are moving at racing speed, parting the buttery sea as with a scalpel, and the waters roar by, themselves exuberantly subdued by your powers to command your way through them. Triumphalism ... and the stars also seem to be singing together for joy.

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