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>Some years ago — never mind how long precisely — having little or no money in my purse, and nothing particular to interest me on shore, I thought I would sail about a little and see the watery part of the world. It is a way I have of driving off the spleen and regulating the circulation. Whenever I find myself growing grim about the mouth; whenever it is a damp, drizzly November in my soul; whenever I find myself involuntarily pausing before coffin warehouses, and bringing up the rear of every funeral I meet; and especially whenever my hypos get such an upper hand of me, that it requires a strong moral principle to prevent me from deliberately stepping into the street, and methodically knocking people’s hats off—then, I account it high time to get to sea as soon as I can. This is my substitute for pistol and ball. With a philosophical flourish Cato throws himself upon his sword; I quietly take to the ship.
You will never write anything anywhere near as good as this.
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how do you know?
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>>8314427
Melville is da gawd what's your point
like posting Shakespeare
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>>8314427
Meh. Wordy doesn't mean good.
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>>8314483
this is good though
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>>8314518
Well, it's all right. It's not mindblowing like the OP implies but it's all right.
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>>8314534
>Well, it's all right. It's not mindblowing like the OP implies but it's all right.
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Its breezy, yet disciplined and reminds me how much I have got to finish that book.
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>>8314483
Kill yourself
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>>8314427
That's good shit OP but this is even better:
>Circumambulate the city of a dreamy Sabbath afternoon. Go from Corlears Hook to Coenties Slip, and from thence, by Whitehall, northward. What do you see?- Posted like silent sentinels all around the town, stand thousands upon thousands of mortal men fixed in ocean reveries. Some leaning against the spiles; some seated upon the pier-heads; some looking over the bulwarks of ships from China; some high aloft in the rigging, as if striving to get a still better seaward peep. But these are all landsmen; of week days pent up in lath and plaster- tied to counters, nailed to benches, clinched to desks. How then is this? Are the green fields gone? What do they here?
>>8314483
t. reddit
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>>8314589
I fucking hate books written in common form like this.
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>perhaps it has occurred to you, dear reader, to doubt the familiar philosophical proposition that the outer is the inner and the inner the outer.
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>>8314427
>>8314589
>They were one man, not thirty. For as the one ship that held them all; though it was put together of all contrasting things - oak, and maple, and pine wood; iron, and patch, and hemp - yet all these ran into each other in the one concrete hull, which shot on its way, both balanced and directed by the long central keel; even so, all the individualities of the crew, this man's valour, that man's fear; guilt and guiltiness, all varieties were welded into oneness, and were all directed to that fatal goal which Ahab their one lord and keel did point to.
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God of Prose.
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>>8314534
It's a great fucking opening paragraph.
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>>8314427
I already have kek
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