Friday, May 19, 2006

There now is your insular city of the Manhattoes, belted round by wharves as Indian isles by coral reefs -- commerce surrounds it with her surf. For my part, I abominate all honourable respectable toils, trials, and tribulations of every kind whatsoever. Look at the crowds of water-gazers there. There is nothing surprising in this. On the contrary, passengers themselves must pay. Call me Ishmael. For to go as a passenger you must needs have a purse, and a purse is but a rag unless you have something in it. But though the picture lies thus tranced, and though this pine-tree shakes down its sighs like leaves upon this shepherd*s head, yet all were vain, unless the shepherd*s eye were fixed upon the magic stream before him. Yet here they all unite. But here is an artist. But here is an artist. " But BEING PAID, -- what will compare with it? The urbane activity with which a man receives money is really marvellous, considering that we so earnestly believe money to be the root of all earthly ills, and that on no account can a monied man enter heaven. What is the chief element he employs? There stand his trees, each with a hollow trunk, as if a hermit and a crucifix were within; and here sleeps his meadow, and there sleep his cattle; and up from yonder cottage goes a sleepy smoke. Yet here they all unite. Chief among these motives was the overwhelming idea of the great whale himself.


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