Yes, as everyone knows, meditation and water are wedded for ever.
Truth uncompromisingly told will always have its jagged edges.
Thy shrunk voice sounds too calmly, sanely woeful to me. In no Paradise myself, I am impatient of all misery in others that is not mad. Thou should’st go mad, blacksmith; say, why dost thou not go mad...
Think not, is my eleventh commandment; and sleep when you can, is my twelfth.
The starred and stately nights seemed haughty dames in jewelled velvets, nursing at home in lonely pride, the memory of their absent conquering Earls, the golden helmeted suns! For sleeping man, 'twas...
Round the World! There is much in that sound to inspire proud feelings; but whereto does all that circumnavigation conduct? Only through numberless perils to the very point whence we started, where th...
Real strength never impairs beauty or harmony, but it often bestows it; and in everything imposingly beautiful, strength has much to do with the magic.
Queequeq, my fine friend, does this sort of thing often happen?
Old age is always wakeful; as if, the longer linked with life, the less man has to do with aught that looks like death. (moby dick chap 29 p123)
Oh, horrible vultureism of earth! from which not the mightiest whale is free.
Of erections how few are domed like St. Peter's! of creatures, how few vast as the whale!
Know ye now, Bulkington? Glimpses do ye seem to see of that mortally intolerable truth; that all deep, earnest thinking is but the intrepid effort of the soul to keep the open independence of her sea;...
It is the easiest thing in the world for a man to look as if he had a great secret in him.
In thoughts of the visions of the night, I saw long rows of angels in paradise, each with his hands in a jar of spermaceti.
Hast seen the white whale?
For all his old age, and his one arm, and his blind eyes, he must die the death and be murdered, in order to light the gay bridals and other merrymakings of men, and also to illuminate the solemn chur...
But this whole world is a preposterous one, with many preposterous people in it.
But by her still halting course and winding, woeful way, you plainly saw that this ship that so wept with spray, still remained without comfort. She was Rachel, weeping for her children, because they...
Ah, Bartleby! Ah, humanity!
From without no wonderful effect is wrought within ourselves unless some interior responding wonder meets it.