The Soul of a New Machine

"Most of the crew now fell into that half-autistic state that the monotony of storms at sea occasionally induces. You find a place to sit and getting a good hold of it, you try not to move again. The boat rolls this way and you flex the muscles around your stomach, then relax; she rolls that way and you flex again. Just staying in one place is exercise. For a while your mind may rebel: "Why did you come, idiot? You don't have to be out here." You may feel remorse for having cursed some part of life on land. After a time, though, phrases start falling from your memory--snatches of song or prayer or nursery rhymes--and you repeat them silently. A little shot of spray in the face, however, or an especially loud and dangerous-sounding thump from the hull, usually breaks the trance and puts you back at sea again. You feel like a lonely child. The ocean doesn't care about you. It makes your boat feel tiny. The oceans are great promoters of religion, or at least of humility--but not in everyone." 

-- Tracy Kidder