With memories like these in him, and, moreover, given to a certain superstitiousness...

>With memories like these in him, and, moreover, given to a certain superstitiousness, as has been said; the courage of this Starbuck which could, nevertheless, still flourish, must indeed have been extreme. But it was not in reasonable nature that a man so organized, and with such terrible experiences and remembrances as he had; it was not in nature that these things should fail in latently engendering an element in him, which, under suitable circumstances, would break out from its confinement, and burn all his courage up. And brave as he might be, it was that sort of bravery, chiefly visible in some intrepid men, which, while generally abiding firm in the conflict with seas, or winds, or whales, or any of the ordinary irrational horrors of the world, yet cannot withstand those more terrific, because more spiritual terrors, which sometimes menace you from the concentrating brow of an enraged and mighty man.
>But were the coming narrative to reveal, in any instance, the complete abasement of poor Starbuck’s fortitude, scarce might I have the heart to write it; for it is a thing most sorrowful, nay shocking, to expose the fall of valor in the soul. Men may seem detestable as joint stock-companies and nations; knaves, fools, and murderers there may be; men may have mean and meagre faces; but man, in the ideal, is so noble and so sparkling, such a grand and glowing creature, that over any ignominious blemish in him all his fellows should run to throw their costliest robes. That immaculate manliness we feel within ourselves, so far within us, that it remains intact though all the outer character seem gone; bleeds with keenest anguish at the undraped spectacle of a valor-ruined man. Nor can piety itself, at such a shameful sight, completely stifle her upbraidings against the permitting stars. But this august dignity I treat of, is not the dignity of kings and robes, but that abounding dignity which has no robed investiture. Thou shalt see it shining in the arm that wields a pick or drives a spike; that democratic dignity which, on all hands, radiates without end from God; Himself! The great God absolute! The centre and circumference of all democracy! His omnipresence, our divine equality!

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>If, then, to meanest mariners, and renegades and castaways, I shall hereafter ascribe high qualities, though dark; weave round them tragic graces; if even the most mournful, perchance the most abased, among them all, shall at times lift himself to the exalted mounts; if I shall touch that workman’s arm with some ethereal light; if I shall spread a rainbow over his disastrous set of sun; then against all mortal critics bear me out in it, thou just Spirit of Equality, which hast spread one royal mantle of humanity over all my kind! Bear me out in it, thou great democratic God! who didst not refuse to the swart convict, Bunyan, the pale, poetic pearl; Thou who didst clothe with doubly hammered leaves of finest gold, the stumped and paupered arm of old Cervantes; Thou who didst pick up Andrew Jackson from the pebbles; who didst hurl him upon a war-horse; who didst thunder him higher than a throne! Thou who, in all Thy mighty, earthly marchings, ever cullest Thy selectest champions from the kingly commons; bear me out in it, O God!
phwwoor

And now we have Drumf for president, what happened to america?

You happenned

National decline happens to the best of us, user. It's true that the European powers have generally managed theirs without electing any completely embarrassing memes to the highest office in the land, but the US was always a wacky kind of place.

world wars ruined this country. also, jews.

>author name is bigger than the title

>America: It's true that the European powers have generally managed theirs without electing any completely embarrassing memes to the highest office in the land
>Italy: Hold my beer
youtu.be/B0KJZEH2jn8

Is this a /VerboseGarbage/ thread?

>theresa may
>angela merkel
>stefan löfven
Yeah you're all doing a great job lol

ah, blood meridian, monsieur? that novel is the sark and chaparral of literature, the filament whereon rode the remuda of highbrow, corraled out of some destitute hacienda upon the arroya, quirting and splurting with main and with pyrolatrous coagulate of lobated grandiloquence. our eyes rode over the pages, monsieur, of that slatribed azotea like argonauts of suttee, juzgados of swole, bights and systoles of walleyed and tyrolean and carbolic and tectite and scurvid and querent and creosote and scapular malpais and shellalagh. we scalped, monsieur, the gantlet of its esker and led our naked bodies into the rebozos of its mennonite and siliceous fauna, wallowing in the jasper and the carnelian like archimandrites, teamsters, combers of cassinette scoria, centroids of holothurian chancre, with pizzles of enfiladed indigo panic grass in the saltbush of our vigas, true commodores of the written page, rebuses, monsieur, we were the mygale spiders too and the devonian and debouched pulque that settled on the frizzen studebakers, listening the wolves howling in the desert while we saw the judge rise out of a thicket of corbelled arches, whinstone, cairn, cholla, lemurs, femurs, leantos, moonblanched nacre, uncottered fistulas of groaning osnaburg and kelp, isomers of fluepipe and halms awap of griddle, guisado, pelancillo.

Holy shit

>he's never seen the corncob copy pasta

is there a single period in all of moby dick?

>Prose

To feed on thoughts, that voluntarie move
Harmonious numbers; as the wakeful Bird
Sings darkling, and in shadiest Covert hid
Tunes her nocturnal Note. Thus with the Year
Seasons return, but not to me returns
Day, or the sweet approach of Even or Morn,
Or sight of vernal bloom, or Summers Rose,
Or flocks, or herds, or human face divine;
But cloud in stead, and ever-during dark
Surrounds me, from the chearful wayes of men
So much the rather thou Celestial light
Shine inward, and the mind through all her powers
Irradiate, there plant eyes, all mist from thence
Purge and disperse, that I may see and tell
Of things invisible to mortal sight.

There are about 300 more pages of this

>man
>man
>manliness
>god
>o divine masculinity!
>o masculinity so divine!
>man and phallic-centric arbitrary virtues is what constitutes all of humanity
>oh, better talk about god again

yawn, and all wrapped up in pretentious prose that aged worse than milk

there's a reason why this is a high school book, and why most high schools aren't bothering with it anymore

something about melville is agonizing to read. i don't want to chalk it up to the verbosity because i can easily digest authors probably considered even more wordy. anyone else relate to this #blog?

>tfw your high school required reading was scarlett letter and the great gatsby and maybe 1 or 2 other books

>t. stupid one
shut the fuck up subhuman

idiot

o-oh no, did I call into question a text that does nothing but revel in an outdated mode of 19th Masculinity that you incels want to still cling to just because it's all tied up with a verbosity that you have circle-jerked yourselves into thinking is a """""masterpiece""""" of prose?

Moby Dick has nothing of value to offer the modern reader or society

No. I do feel that way about his buddy Hawthorne though.

I hate on Moby Dick for different reasons but you're a fucking idiot for judging it by value to modern society like that will ever be truly relevant to a great work of literature, and then questioning the prose really ties up your shit opinion. Stick to whatever it is you read because the parameters you set rule out nearly every great piece of writing and leaves you with contemporary garbage

kek

>falls for obvious bait
>i-hate moby dick too!
>b-but you're a fucking idiot!
I want to rub my dick cheese on your face

Yikes lol

yes. on the first page after "Call me Ishmael." and another at the end of the book.

computer, my eyes staring monotonically at the blankness of the screen through which i entered the world of the world wide web i felt a sudden urge to drink a beverage that would cool my innards. It was strange that i felt this, i thought, for it rather cold. It was a cold winter, and i was also cold and yet nonetheless i felt a distinct and strong desire to drink a coca cola. Without even being aware of desiring it i got up from my chair and walked aimlessly through the apartment. What a coincidence: The room of my flatmate laid exposed due to a half-closed door and in the shadows i made out a plastic bottle which contained a minimal amount of sugared liquis. I turned on the light, my flatmate was partying, and discovered that it was a freeway coca cola. I wasn't too fond of this brand and also the liquid was going to be lukewarm but a slurp or Two wouldn't do harm i considered and roamed into the private space of my flatmate. I picked up the bottle, opened, took two sips, held the taste in and swallowed then closed the bottle with the lid and put it back on the ground. I noticed that there was something which looked like a tampon on my flatmates bed when all of a sudden i saw two decapitated heads laying in the corner of the bed. My heart exploded and i fell backwards out of the room and voiced a silent scream. While falling there was an instinct in me that determined that i had confused the decapitated heads for something else but checking agian made me realize that indeed they were decapitated heads lying in the bed of my flatmate who had left the house. I was going crazy walking backwards into my room and closing the door. I determined on the spot to pretend that i hadn't seen anything, that i hadn't entered the room of my flate. An urge inside me tried to resummon the images of the two heads as to identify them but another instinct tried to push them as far away as possible. Nonetheless an image rose inside my mind and what i saw left me in disbelief. They looked like the heads of swampcorpses that had died hundreds of year ago. A gray leathery skin drawn over bones and almost gooey strains of her laying on the leatherskin, the eyes dried up. No. No. It's just a dream. It's justa dream. I wanted to browse the internet to distract myself and emulated the existance of a person who's night proceeds as usual because you didn't find the remains of two corpses in your flat but i don't think it works. I dont think it works and i leave my chair and walk out of the flat. i walk back in and put on a jacket because it's cold but i walk out and close the door. I run down the stairs and realize that it's just a dream and nothing more it's just a dream finally i can dream lucidly i thought normally my dreams are unstable but this one proves to be relatively cohered aside from the two dead heads in my apartment i said and laughed and ran out of the building onto the snowglaced streets which were lighted by street lights as is usually the case with streets

I remembered that it was saturday and that as such many people were still outside and i wondered whether they knew that i had killed the people but i hadn't done it i screamed at them. A group of people murmured viciously and probably about me being deserving of punishment but i didn't do i screamed to them and one of the guys whom i had screamed into his hears out of anger and because i was wrongly accused shoved me away and shouted get the fuck away from me and i laughed and evaded for hundreds of metres this group of malevolent people who judged me falsely and did not understand what had occured and that it hadn't been me and that i haven't seen anyhting because i wasn't in my flatmates room and there were certainly no corpses there because my friend was partying tonight and i said this i said to a group of 3 young women that i hadn't seen anything and i repeated it so that they understood but they didn't seem to understand and acted as if they heard nothing and moved down the streets and i followed them but i wouldn't talk to them i wouldn't acknowledge that they ignored me despite of the truth, that they decided to ignore the truth and blame me. I wouldn't accept this and ran away because i grew scared. I ran a lot and i don't know why but i ran until my lungs were bursting and my hears feeling like bleeding ot my senses for the coldness of the air was not to be underestimated and i wasn't truly properly dressed for this climate but atleast there were various beautiful stars hwich i saw as i laid down in the snow to recover and i felt for the first time that something inside me was calming for this day i felt finally that something inside me was laid to rest in piece for all of eternity and the stars zooming and growing closer to me until i felt they were moving as golden orbs down the space and into the orbit and growing and a glistening texture of golden shine engulfing me as they closed in down on me and there i was being filled wiht warmth and courage and got up and thought of what had just occured and i looked up and saw that all was as usual and that the stars had been moving down in my head or rather in my soul but in truth i suppose they were still far away in measures that could be calculated by very expensive equipment of the NSA i got up and felt despite of the stars being so far, so far away from me i felt nonetheless refreshed and calm and walked somberly and thoughtfully and looking at my feet while thinking of a reasonable course of action until i sat down at the stairs where a man having a telephone call with a person of his whom i couldn't identify but it was a talk of meeting and he had just left work and i realized i stood in front of an office building in the center of the city and was sitting on the stairs and he had just left and was organizing the little end of the night which had been left to him and i shook my head and said to him: You must know this or not. Either you know it or you don't.

. If you don't know it's too late. If you still don't know it, you shall be judged. I mean that i didn't do it and you know it right? Does your wife know about it? Did she talk about me on the phone i said and he stared at me and said to his call partner that he would call her later and he hunched down in the front of my body and looked me with a face which i couldn't identify in it's expression and he asked me if i needed help if i was in trouble and i said no sir, i'm not in trouble becuase i didn't do it. I didn't do it sir, i just saw it. And he said: saw what. What did you see. And i relaized it was concern of his face, a concern which to me even struck me as being authentic and geneuine and i exhaled from exhaustion and said: Sir, it doesn't really matter i said and felt as if i was being deflated by forces from outer space against my will as if slowly the wind was being extracted from my shell and i was crumbling like a building where people live as thousands of year pass around the world and the stones falling and windows shattering and wood rotting and plants dodging through the broken stone as to grow higher up into the sky and closer to the stars and i said that i think perhaps i do need some help and i started to cry a little and said sir that i had found 2 corpses ain the room of my flatmate and as i said it i started to cry lengthily suddenly there were tears streaming down my face and i said that it was just a dream i mumbled it, he heard it and nodded and called an ambulance which i heard with my ears and i looked it him with my eyes hurting from salt but also a relief in my heart and i smile dinvoluntarily and i said to him that i often wonder which is my true self: I wonder if the core of my struggles in life was a philosophical struggle with life and it's meaning and the significance or justification of existance and a struggle for identity or whether my other face, the face of illness in the face of power was the truth and which one was just the cover up and sometimes i felt as if the mental illness was the truth and that the violence was the truth and that i was doomed to be destroyed and that i couldn't help it that something was terribly wrong and disturbed in my genes but then again i felt often that this was the actual excuse for my murders and that i simply tried to duck and cover behind explanations which stripped me of all responsibility i said and laughed and couldn't help but laugh at this logic and the man looked concerned and backed off and he called someone i don't know who it was but he named the street we were in which i only learned because he told them the name of a street and it sounded

>That guys face in the background

Squeeze! squeeze! squeeze! all the morning long; I squeezed that sperm till I myself almost melted into it; I squeezed that sperm till a strange sort of insanity came over me; and I found myself unwittingly squeezing my co-laborers' hands in it, mistaking their hands for the gentle globules. Such an abounding, affectionate, friendly, loving feeling did this avocation beget; that at last I was continually squeezing their hands, and looking up into their eyes sentimentally; as much as to say, - Oh! my dear fellow beings, why should we longer cherish any social acerbities, or know the slightest ill-humor or envy! Come; let us squeeze hands all round; nay, let us all squeeze ourselves into each other; let us squeeze ourselves universally into the very milk and sperm of kindness.

And then he spat.

quality b8

“Vengeance on a dumb brute!” cried Starbuck, “that simply smote thee from blindest instinct! Madness! To be enraged with a dumb thing, Captain Ahab, seems blasphemous.”

“Hark ye yet again—the little lower layer. All visible objects, man, are but as pasteboard masks. But in each event—in the living act, the undoubted deed—there, some unknown but still reasoning thing puts forth the mouldings of its features from behind the unreasoning mask. If man will strike, strike through the mask! How can the prisoner reach outside except by thrusting through the wall? To me, the white whale is that wall, shoved near to me. Sometimes I think there’s naught beyond. But ’tis enough. He tasks me; he heaps me; I see in him outrageous strength, with an inscrutable malice sinewing it. That inscrutable thing is chiefly what I hate; and be the white whale agent, or be the white whale principal, I will wreak that hate upon him. Talk not to me of blasphemy, man; I’d strike the sun if it insulted me. For could the sun do that, then could I do the other; since there is ever a sort of fair play herein, jealousy presiding over all creations. But not my master, man, is even that fair play. Who’s over me? Truth hath no confines. Take off thine eye! more intolerable than fiends’ glarings is a doltish stare! So, so; thou reddenest and palest; my heat has melted thee to anger-glow. But look ye, Starbuck, what is said in heat, that thing unsays itself. There are men from whom warm words are small indignity. I meant not to incense thee. Let it go. Look! see yonder Turkish cheeks of spotted tawn—living, breathing pictures painted by the sun. The Pagan leopards—the unrecking and unworshipping things, that live; and seek, and give no reasons for the torrid life they feel! The crew, man, the crew! Are they not one and all with Ahab, in this matter of the whale? See Stubb! he laughs! See yonder Chilian! he snorts to think of it. Stand up amid the general hurricane, thy one tost sapling cannot, Starbuck! And what is it? Reckon it. ’Tis but to help strike a fin; no wondrous feat for Starbuck. What is it more? From this one poor hunt, then, the best lance out of all Nantucket, surely he will not hang back, when every foremast-hand has clutched a whetstone? Ah! constrainings seize thee; I see! the billow lifts thee! Speak, but speak!—Aye, aye! thy silence, then, that voices thee. (Aside) Something shot from my dilated nostrils, he has inhaled it in his lungs. Starbuck now is mine; cannot oppose me now, without rebellion.”

“God keep me!—keep us all!” murmured Starbuck, lowly.