"Call me Ishmael.
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.
There is nothing surprising in this. If they but knew it, almost
all men in their degree, some time or other, cherish very nearly
the same feelings towards the ocean with me." opening paragraph, Moby-Dick; or, The Whale
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