Thus we see how that the spine of even the hugest of living things tapers off at last into simple child’s play.
All that most maddens and torments; all that stirs up the lees of things; all truth with malice in it; all that cracks the sinews and cakes the brain; all the subtle demonisms of life and thought; all evil, to crazy Ahab, were visibly personified, and made practically assailable in Moby Dick.
While religion, contrary to the common notion, implies, in certain cases, a spirit of slow reserve as to assent, infidelity, which claims to despise credulity, is sometimes swift to it.
What creature but a madman would not rather do good than ill, when it is plain that, good or ill, it must return upon himself?
We ourselves see in all rivers and oceans. It is the image of the ungraspable phantom of life; and this is the key to it all.
There is sorrow in the world, but goodness too; and goodness that is not greenness, either, no more than sorrow is.
There is something wrong about the man who wants help. There is somewhere a defect, a want, in brief, a need, a crying need, somewhere about that man.
There are some persons in this world, who, unable to give better proof of being wise, take a strange delight in showing what they think they have sagaciously read in mankind by uncharitable suspicions of them.