"...the Pequod went rolling through the bright Quito spring.... The warmly cool, clear, ringing, perfumed, overflowing, reduant days, were as crystal goblets of Persian sherbet, heaped up--flaked up, with rose-water snow. The starred and stately nights seemed haughty dames in jewelled velvets..."
"Old age is always wakeful; as if, the longer linked withlife, the less man has to do with aught that looks like death."
— Nov 17, 2024 02:08AM
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