It is strange to think I haven’t seen you since a month. I have seen the new moon, but not you. I have seen sunsets and sunrises, but nothing of your beautiful face. The pieces of my broken heart are so small that they could be passed through the eye of a needle. I miss you like the sun misses the flower; like the sun misses the flower in the depths of winter. Instead of beauty to direct its light to, the heart hardens like the frozen world your absence has banished me to. I’ll next compete in the city of Paris. I’ll find it empty and in the winter if you’re not there. Hope guides me. It is what gets me through the day and especially the night. The hope that after you are gone from my sight it will not be the last time I look upon you.[in a letter to Jocelyn]
Greed took hold of our captain and first mate. So we headed out. A thousand leagues along the equator. Where knowledge ended, speculation began. That’s where the whales had gone to hide. As far from man as they could possibly go. But we hunted them down. Centuries before, sailors feared sailing off the edge of the Earth. But we where headed for the edge of sanity. Trust gave way to doubt. Hope to blind superstition.