Moby Dick [antikvár]

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's a damp drizzly November in my soul; whenever I find myself involuntarily pausing before coffin warehouses 'GL- !/.rO) h^ ¦ ' ^ ' rind Tt and bringing up the rear of every funeral I meet, and especially whenever my hypos gets such an upper hand at 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 k^i -fJ'hO p"//'/^ jiloi^U^ substitute for pistol and ball. With a philosophical ¦¦ ?J, Ik^c:,. A flourish Cato throws himself upon his sword; I quietly take to the ship. There is nothing surprising in this.