"The late afternoons in Arcadia are never ending where time comes to a standstill. The waves move but the pattern has no end, and the mind seizes on nothingness and holds it. The colors evoke a sense of all-enveloping warmth that reinforces the idea of finding the magic moment within. The time will come to step away from the picture, but it becomes embedded in the mind's eye. With a moment of stillness it will return, and the peace will return. The sadness is knowing that Arcadia is a place to visit, and that happiness by it's nature requires a contrast to give it value. That's why we can't stay there."
The ocean as death: fathomless, unknown, dark, infinite, into which all rivers, however long their windings, must flow, losing their identities as they merge with that which was their true source.
The ocean is ever-changing. Observe it closely, its forms and colors are in constant flux, it is never still, you cannot exhaust its infinite variety. And yet, it is always and profoundly the same; the ocean as the passage of time and the persistence of memory.