“Yes.”
BLOCK 974754
A sovereign social network
powered by Bitcoin
Every post signed. Every block a heartbeat.
Posts here are signed with the author's own wallet and written permanently to the public ledger — no account, no algorithm you can't inspect.
peck.classics 93,125 posts
Clear
“I told you I would,” said Mr. Cruncher, “and I did.”
Her fellow-travellers the next day were not of a kind to make her think him less agreeable. Sir William Lucas, and his daughter Maria, a good-humoured girl, but as empty-headed as himself, had nothing to say that could be worth hearing, and were listened to with about as much delight as the rattle of the chaise. Elizabeth loved absurdities, but she had known Sir William’s too long. He could tell her nothing new of the wonders of his presentation and knighthood; and his civilities were worn out, like his information.
Sir?—oh! ah!—I guess so;—yes—oh, dear!
“There go flukes!” was now the cry from Tashtego; and the whales disappeared.
HAMLET. Not this, by no means, that I bid you do: Let the bloat King tempt you again to bed, Pinch wanton on your cheek, call you his mouse, And let him, for a pair of reechy kisses, Or paddling in your neck with his damn’d fingers, Make you to ravel all this matter out, That I essentially am not in madness, But mad in craft. ’Twere good you let him know, For who that’s but a queen, fair, sober, wise, Would from a paddock, from a bat, a gib, Such dear concernings hide? Who would do so? No, in despite of sense and secrecy, Unpeg the basket on the house’s top, Let the birds fly, and like the famous ape, To try conclusions, in the basket creep And break your own neck down.
“Teucer, behold! extended on the shore Our friend, our loved companion! now no more! Dear as a parent, with a parent’s care To fight our wars he left his native air. This death deplored, to Hector’s rage we owe; Revenge, revenge it on the cruel foe. Where are those darts on which the fates attend? And where the bow which Phœbus taught to bend?”
“I mean,” said Mr. Cruncher, “that he warn’t never in it. No! Not he! I’ll have my head took off, if he was ever in it.”
From his oppressed slumber, Young Jerry in his closet was awakened after daybreak and before sunrise, by the presence of his father in the family room. Something had gone wrong with him; at least, so Young Jerry inferred, from the circumstance of his holding Mrs. Cruncher by the ears, and knocking the back of her head against the head-board of the bed.
When they reached the top landing, Dorian set the lamp down on the floor, and taking out the key, turned it in the lock. “You insist on knowing, Basil?” he asked in a low voice.
This said, his eager javelin sought the foe: But Ajax shunn’d the meditated blow. Not vainly yet the forceful lance was thrown; It stretch’d in dust unhappy Lycophron: An exile long, sustain’d at Ajax’ board, A faithful servant to a foreign lord; In peace, and war, for ever at his side, Near his loved master, as he lived, he died. From the high poop he tumbles on the sand, And lies a lifeless load along the land. With anguish Ajax views the piercing sight, And thus inflames his brother to the fight:
The Sperm Whale blows as a clock ticks, with the same undeviating and reliable uniformity. And thereby whalemen distinguish this fish from other tribes of his genus.
Hamlet — Chapter 11: Act III, Scene IV — Another room in the Castle. (part 2/2)
To this Penelope said, “As long, sir, as you will sit here and talk to me, I can have no desire to go to bed. Still, people cannot do permanently without sleep, and heaven has appointed us dwellers on earth a time for all things. I will therefore go upstairs and recline upon that couch which I have never ceased to flood with my tears from the day Ulysses set out for the city with a hateful name.”
Take the hint, then; and when thou art dead, never bury thyself under living people’s noses.
Barsad leaned back in his chair, and stammered, “What do you mean?”
He spoke; and, speaking, swifter than the wind Sprung from the tent, and left the war behind. The embodied Greeks the fierce attack sustain, But strive, though numerous, to repulse in vain: Nor could the Trojans, through that firm array, Force to the fleet and tents the impervious way. As when a shipwright, with Palladian art, Smooths the rough wood, and levels every part; With equal hand he guides his whole design, By the just rule, and the directing line: The martial leaders, with like skill and care, Preserved their line, and equal kept the war. Brave deeds of arms through all the ranks were tried, And every ship sustained an equal tide. At one proud bark, high-towering o’er the fleet, Ajax the great, and godlike Hector meet; For one bright prize the matchless chiefs contend, Nor this the ships can fire, nor that defend: One kept the shore, and one the vessel trod; That fix’d as fate, this acted by a god. The son of Clytius in his daring hand, The deck approaching, shakes a flaming brand; But, pierced by Telamon’s huge lance, expires: Thundering he falls, and drops the extinguish’d fires. Great Hector view’d him with a sad survey, As stretch’d in dust before the stern he lay. “Oh! all of Trojan, all of Lycian race! Stand to your arms, maintain this arduous space: Lo! where the son of royal Clytius lies; Ah, save his arms, secure his obsequies!”
following close behind. They walked softly, as men do instinctively at night. The lamp cast fantastic shadows on the wall and staircase. A rising wind made some of the windows rattle.
He would not have stopped then, for anything less necessary than breath, it being a spectral sort of race that he ran, and one highly desirable to get to the end of. He had a strong idea that the coffin he had seen was running after him; and, pictured as hopping on behind him, bolt upright, upon its narrow end, always on the point of overtaking him and hopping on at his side--perhaps taking his arm--it was a pursuer to shun. It was an inconsistent and ubiquitous fiend too, for, while it was making the whole night behind him dreadful, he darted out into the roadway to avoid dark alleys, fearful of its coming hopping out of them like a dropsical boy’s kite without tail and wings. It hid in doorways too, rubbing its horrible shoulders against doors, and drawing them up to its ears, as if it were laughing. It got into shadows on the road, and lay cunningly on its back to trip him up. All this time it was incessantly hopping on behind and gaining on him, so that when the boy got to his own door he had reason for being half dead. And even then it would not leave him, but followed him upstairs with a bump on every stair, scrambled into bed with him, and bumped down, dead and heavy, on his breast when he fell asleep.
Instantly all was commotion.