With oars apeak, and paddles down, the sheets of their sails adrift, the three boats now stilly floated, awaiting Moby Dick’s reappearance.

he still hugged me tightly, as though naught but death should part us twain

By the Lord, I must have been dreaming, though—How? how? how?

Swerve me? ye cannot swerve me, else ye swerve yourselves! man has ye there. Swerve me?

there no conceivable time or occasion when you will find them in such countless numbers, and in gayer or more jovial spirits, than around a dead sperm whale

Tell me, does the magnetic virtue of the needles of the compasses of all those ships attract them thither?

What then shall I liken the Sperm Whale to for fragrance, considering his magnitude?

since they have such a ravenous finger in the pie, it is deemed but wise to look sharp to them

The whale fell directly over him, and probably killed him in a moment.

Pushing heavy cannon up mountain defiles, the elephant’s brow is majestic.

There is, one knows not what sweet mystery about this sea

his torn body and gashed soul bled into one another; and so interfusing, made him mad

those who glared like devils in the forking flames, the morn will show in far other, at least gentler, relief

in all seasons and all oceans declared everlasting war with the mightiest animated mass that has survived the flood

with my shoulders leaning against the slackened royal shrouds, to and fro I idly swayed in what seemed an enchanted air

See how elastic our prejudices grow when once love comes to bend them.

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