The sea gives and the sea takes. Fortune and loss are two faces of the same force — what provides abundance can also deliver ruin. Sicilian fishermen understood this as a law of existence, not a complaint.
The sea was the central fact of Sicilian life for millennia — it brought the Greeks, the Arabs, the Normans; it carried the tuna and swordfish that fed coastal towns; it swallowed boats and men in sudden tramontane storms. Fishing communities in Mazara del Vallo, Sciacca, and the Aeolian Islands developed a fatalistic tenderness toward the sea: they needed it, they feared it, and they respected its indifference. This proverb was spoken at funerals for drowned fishermen without bitterness — the sea was not blamed, only acknowledged. It was also used more broadly: a merchant who gained a fortune from trade and then lost it; a harvest that was plentiful one year and failed the next. To name the sea was to name the unnamed force that governs all human luck. The proverb teaches acceptance without passivity — you go back out the next morning.
Deeply rooted in the fishing towns of western Sicily, particularly Mazara del Vallo and Sciacca, where the sea determined survival from one season to the next.
A widow at the port after her husband's boat was lost
Non lo maledirei mai, il mare. Lu mari duna e lu mari pigghia. Lui lo sapeva quando è partito.
I would never curse it, the sea. The sea gives and the sea takes. He knew it when he left.
A businessman reflecting on years of ups and downs
Ho fatto soldi e li ho persi due volte. Ormai l'ho capito: lu mari duna e lu mari pigghia. L'importante è restare a galla.
I made money and lost it twice. By now I have understood: the sea gives and the sea takes. The important thing is to stay afloat.
An old fisherman teaching his grandson
Quando il mare è generoso, non dimenticare mai questo: lu mari duna e lu mari pigghia. Non diventare superbo.
When the sea is generous, never forget this: the sea gives and the sea takes. Do not become arrogant.
A farmer after a bad harvest following a record year
L'anno scorso avevo i granai pieni, quest'anno quasi niente. Lu mari duna e lu mari pigghia — e qui siamo lontani dal mare, eppure vale lo stesso.
Last year my granaries were full, this year almost nothing. The sea gives and the sea takes — and here we are far from the sea, yet it holds the same.