01/04/2004
🖋:
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.
H. Melville, Moby Dick, 1851