Boek
Call me Ishmael. Some years ago never mind how long precisely havinglittle or no money in my purse and nothing particular to interest me on shoreI thought I would sail about a little and see the watery part of the world. Itis a way I have of driving off the spleen and regulating the circulation.Whenever I find myself growing grim about the mouth whenever it is a dampdrizzly November in my soul whenever I find myself involuntarily pausingbefore coffin warehouses and bringing up the rear of every funeral I meet andespecially whenever my hypos get such an upper hand of me that it requires astrong moral principle to prevent me from deliberately stepping into thestreet and methodically knocking peoples hats off then I account it hightime to get to sea as soon as I can. This is my substitute for pistol and ball.With a philosophical flourish Cato throws himself upon his sword I quietlytake to the ship. There is nothing surprising in this. If they but knew italmost all men in their degree some time or other cherish very nearly thesame feelings towards the ocean with me. «
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