Ah, happiness courts the light so we deem the world is gay. But misery hides aloof so we deem that misery there is none.
Men may seem detestable as joint stock-companies and nations; knaves, fools, and murderers there may be; men may have mean and meager faces; but man, in the ideal, is so noble and so sparkling, such a grand and glowing creature.
There are some persons in this world, who, being perhaps innocent in themselves, yet are guilty of indirect harms.
God keep me from ever completing anything. This whole book is but a draught — nay, but the draught of a draught.
But as in landlessness alone resides the highest truth, shoreless, indefinite as God — so, better is it to perish in that howling infinite, than be ingloriously dashed upon the lee, even if that were safety!
To know how to grow old is the master work of wisdom, and one of the most difficult chapters in the great art of living.
Genius, all over the world, stands hand in hand, and one shock of recognition runs the whole circle round.
Truth is ever incoherent, and when the big hearts strike together, the concussion is a little stunning.
And if at whiles the bubble, blown too thin, Seem nigh on bursting,—if you quickly bring The ruddy nipple to the stopper, drink That more intoxicating drop.
All men live enveloped in whale-lines. All are born with halters round their necks; but it is only when caught in the swift, sudden turn of death, that mortals realize the silent, subtle, ever-present perils of life.
Aye, aye! and I’ll chase him round Good Hope, and round the Horn, and round the Norway Maelstrom, and round perdition’s flames before I give him up.
You might as well say that a man who is in the habit of making earnest inquiries, and of scrutinizing, is either a fool, or else has his brains battered out.
Tranquillity, in respect to man's soul, means a temperate living on all things and abstinence from none.
There are certain queer times and occasions in this strange mixed affair we call life when a man takes this whole universe for a vast practical joke.
There are some persons in this world, who, at the mere illusion of looking at any more prudently in the mirror, feel a sort of bloodshot certainty, of which their blood is made.
To the last, I grapple with thee; from hell's heart, I stab at thee; for hate's sake, I spit my last breath at thee.
There is no quality in this world that is not what it is merely by contrast. Nothing exists in itself.
Some dying men are the most tyrannical; and certainly, since they will shortly trouble us so little for evermore, the poor fellows ought to be indulged.
Some certain significance lurks in all things, else all things are little worth, and the round world itself but an empty cipher.
Stranger! if thou hast learned a truth which needs no school of long experience, that the world is a mask, and that when thou destroyest the mask, thou revealest the mystery; but ten times the mask itself is mystery.
So far as what we call time may be reckoned by man, that period which is either a portion of the whole, or the whole, of the human race.
So true it is, that although in contemplating the political institutions of America, we should warm as benevolence loves to warm with the sight of all the blessings which these institutions shed upon man.
Our souls are like those orphans whose unwedded mothers die in bearing them: the secret of our paternity lies in their grave, and we must there to learn it.
Of all the preposterous assumptions of humanity over humanity, nothing exceeds most of the criticisms made on the habits of the poor by the well-housed, well-warmed, and well-fed.
Methinks that in the wildest rage of his fiercest mood, there was always a deep half latent dread, that, in some unmomented fit of unthoughtful, unwatchful instant, the bantering deity would leave him.
In this world, shipmates, sin that pays its way can travel freely, and without a passport; whereas Virtue, if a pauper, is stopped at all frontiers.
Hope is the struggle of the soul, breaking loose from what is perishable, and attesting her eternity.
Doubtless one leading reason why the world declines honoring us whalesmen, is this: they think that, at best, our vocation amounts to a butchering sort of business.
As for me, I am tormented with an everlasting itch for things remote. I love to sail forbidden seas, and land on barbarous coasts.
All deep, earnest thinking is but the intrepid effort of the soul to keep the open independence of her sea.