Moby Dick

File: moby_dick_by_palmovish-d3bn7ed.jpg (96KB, 900x1273px) Image search: [Google]

96KB, 900x1273px

>>6850541

The universe is finished; the copestone is on, and the chips were carted off a million years ago.

>>6850543

Let them talk of their oriental summer climes of everlasting conservatories; give me the privilege of making my own summer with my own coals.

File: minimalist_book_poster__moby_dick_by_seanelynn-d7s4trd.jpg (429KB, 1600x2080px) Image search: [Google]

429KB, 1600x2080px

>>6850545
fml i attached wtf

File: moby_dick_poster_by_elicenia-d6f9yl0.jpg (131KB, 1024x1654px) Image search: [Google]

131KB, 1024x1654px

>>6850546

Every one knows that in most people's estimation, to do anything coolly is to do it genteelly.

File: moby_dick_by_scumbugg.jpg (183KB, 611x1058px) Image search: [Google]

183KB, 611x1058px

>>6850549

Death—a speechlessly quick chaotic bundling of a man into Eternity.

File: moby_dick_by_thrantantra.jpg (282KB, 900x1165px) Image search: [Google]

282KB, 900x1165px

>>6850550

Delight is to him—a far, far upward, and inward delight—who against the proud gods and commodores of this earth, ever stands forth his own inexorable self. Delight is to him whose strong arms yet support him, when the ship of this base treacherous world has gone down beneath him. Delight is to him, who gives no quarter in the truth.

File: moby_dick__cuddlefish_by_ambrmerlinus-d3ded0l.jpg (610KB, 1391x900px) Image search: [Google]

610KB, 1391x900px

>>6850551

There is no quality in this world that is not what it is merely by contrast. Nothing exists in itself.
A sleeping apartment should never be furnished with a fire, which is one of the luxurious discomforts of the rich. For the height of this sort of deliciousness is to have nothing but the blanket between you and your snugness and the cold of the outer air. Then there you lie like the one warm spark in the heart of an arctic crystal.
I was only alive to the condensed confidential comfortableness of sharing a pipe and a blanket with a real friend.

File: moby_dick_third_day_by_jimmy_fuzz.jpg (179KB, 900x649px) Image search: [Google]

179KB, 900x649px

>>6850552

So that there are instances among them of men, who, named with Scripture names-a singularly common fashion on the island-and in childhood naturally imbibing the stately dramatic thee and thou of the Quaker idiom; still, from the audacious, daring, and boundless adventure of their subsequent lives, strangely blend with these unoutgrown peculiarities, a thousand bold dashes of character, not unworthy a Scandinavian sea-king, or a poetical Pagan Roman. And when these things unite in a man of greatly superior natural force, with a globular brain and a ponderous heart; who has also by the stillness and seclusion of many long night-watches in the remotest waters, and beneath constellations never seen here at the north, been led to think untraditionally and independently; receiving all nature's sweet or savage impressions fresh from her own virgin voluntary and confiding breast, and thereby chiefly, but with some help from accidental advantages, to learn a bold and nervous lofty language-that man makes one in a whole nation's census-a mighty pageant creature, formed for noble tragedies. Nor will it at all detract from him, dramatically regarded, if either by birth or other circumstances, he have what seems a half wilful overruling morbidness at the bottom of his nature. For all men tragically great are made so through a certain morbidness. Be sure of this, O young ambition, all mortal greatness is but disease. But, as yet we have not to do with such an one, but with quite another; and still a man, who, if indeed peculiar, it only results again from another phase of the Quaker, modified by individual circumstances.

File: moby_dick__bro_hug_by_livie_lightyear-d47ev39.jpg (205KB, 900x1057px) Image search: [Google]

205KB, 900x1057px

>>6850556

I don't know exactly what's the matter with him; but he keeps close inside the house; a sort of sick, and yet he don't look so. In fact, he ain't sick; but no, he isn't well either. Any how, young man, he won't always see me, so I don't suppose he will thee. He's a queer man, Captain Ahab-so some think-but a good one. Oh, thou'lt like him well enough; no fear, no fear. He's a grand, ungodly, god-like man, Captain Ahab; doesn't speak much; but, when he does speak, then you may well listen. Mark ye, be forewarned; Ahab's above the common; Ahab's been in colleges, as well as 'mong the cannibals; been used to deeper wonders than the waves; fixed his fiery lance in mightier, stranger foes than whales. His lance! aye, the keenest and surest that out of all our isle! Oh! he ain't Captain Bildad; no, and he ain't Captain Peleg; he's Ahab, boy; and Ahab of old, thou knowest, was a crowned king!

File: moby_dick_cover_by_ambrmerlinus-d3f788i.jpg (407KB, 700x1081px) Image search: [Google]

407KB, 700x1081px

>>6850559

It is a thing most sorrowful, nay shocking, to expose the fall of valor in the soul. Men may seem detestable as joint stock-companies and nations; knaves, fools, and murderers there may be; men may have mean and meagre faces; but, man, in the ideal, is so noble and so sparkling, such a grand and glowing creature, that over any ignominious blemish in him all his fellows should run to throw their costliest robes. That immaculate manliness we feel within ourselves, so far within us, that it remains intact though all the outer character seem gone; bleeds with keenest anguish at the undraped spectacle of a valor-ruined man.
If, then, to meanest mariners, and renegades and castaways, I shall hereafter ascribe high qualities, though dark; weave around them tragic graces; if even the most mournful, perchance the most abased, among them all, shall at times lift himself to the exalted mounts; if I shall touch that workman's arm with some ethereal light; if I shall spread a rainbow over his disastrous set of sun; then against all mortal critics bear me out in it, thou just Spirit of Equality, which hast spread one royal mantle of humanity over all my kind! Bear me out in it, thou great democratic God! who didst not refuse to the swart convict, Bunyan, the pale, poetic pearl; Thou who didst clothe with doubly hammered leaves of finest gold, the stumped and paupered arm of old Cervantes; Thou who didst pick up Andrew Jackson from the pebbles; who didst hurl him upon a war-horse; who didst thunder him higher than a throne! Thou who, in all Thy mighty, earthly marchings, ever cullest Thy selectest champions from the kingly commoners; bear me out in it, O God!

File: moby_dick_by_ikaash-d4xljno.jpg (1MB, 2550x3300px) Image search: [Google]

1MB, 2550x3300px

>>6850565

For be a man's intellectual superiority what it will, it can never assume the practical, available supremacy over other men, without the aid of some sort of external arts and entrenchments, always, in themselves, more or less paltry and base.

File: moby_dick_wallpaper_by_timonth-d338wcc.jpg (97KB, 900x600px) Image search: [Google]

97KB, 900x600px

>>6850590

Hark ye yet again—the little lower layer. All visible objects, man, are but as pasteboard masks. But in each event—in the living act, the undoubted deed—there, some unknown but still reasoning thing puts forth the mouldings of its features from behind the unreasoning mask. If man will strike, strike through the mask! How can the prisoner reach outside except by thrusting through the wall? To me, the white whale is that wall, shoved near to me. Sometimes I think there's naught beyond. But 'tis enough. He tasks me; he heaps me; I see in him outrageous strength, with an inscrutable malice sinewing it. That inscrutable thing is chiefly what I hate; and be the white whale agent, or be the white whale principal, I will wreak that hate upon him. Talk not to me of blasphemy, man; I'd strike the sun if it insulted me. For could the sun do that, then could I do the other; since there is ever a sort of fair play herein, jealousy presiding over all creations. But not my master, man, is even that fair play. Who's over me? Truth hath no confines.