The Count of Monte Cristo

It was a lovely starlight night--they had just reached the top of the hill Villejuif, the platform from whence Paris, like some dark sea, is seen to agitate its millions of lights, resembling phosphoric waves,--waves indeed, more noisy, more passionate, more changeable, more furious, more greedy, than those of the tempestuous ocean,--waves which never lie calm, like those of the vast sea,--waves ever destructive, ever foaming, and ever restless. 

~Alexandre Dumas