Some years ago - never mind how long - I thought would sail about a little, and see the watery part of world. Whenever I grow grim about the mouth and hazy in the eyes, whenever it's a damp November in my soul, I counted time to get to Sea. Almost all men - sometime or other - cherish these same feelings toward the Ocean.

Why did the old Persians hold the Ocean holy? The still deeper meaning of that story of Narcissus, who because he could not grasp the mild tormenting image in the fountain; plunged into it, and drowned.

That same image, we are souls, seen in all Rivers. In Oceans and in Lakes and Wells. The image of the Ungraspable. The Phantom of Life.

And that... is the key to it All...

From Moby-d___ (1851), Chapter 1: Loomings

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