does literature get better than this?

>Oh, grassy glades! oh, ever vernal endless landscapes in the soul; in ye,—though long parched by the dead drought of the earthy life,—in ye, men yet may roll, like young horses in new morning clover; and for some few fleeting moments, feel the cool dew of the life immortal on them. Would to God these blessed calms would last. But the mingled, mingling threads of life are woven by warp and woof: calms crossed by storms, a storm for every calm. There is no steady unretracing progress in this life; we do not advance through fixed gradations, and at the last one pause:—through infancy's unconscious spell, boyhood's thoughtless faith, adolescence' doubt (the common doom), then scepticism, then disbelief, resting at last in manhood's pondering repose of If. But once gone through, we trace the round again; and are infants, boys, and men, and Ifs eternally. Where lies the final harbor, whence we unmoor no more? In what rapt ether sails the world, of which the weariest will never weary? Where is the foundling's father hidden? 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.

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  1. 2 months ago
    Anonymous

    More like HISman Melville, if you catch my drift

  2. 2 months ago
    Anonymous

    Pierre contains lines quite as good as this, though the book comparatively is shit.

    • 2 months ago
      Anonymous

      Quote one (1)

      • 2 months ago
        Anonymous

        “For in tremendous extremities human souls are like drowning men; well enough they know they are in peril; well enough they know the causes of that peril;—nevertheless, the sea is the sea, and these drowning men do drown.”

        • 2 months ago
          Anonymous

          >nevertheless, the sea is the sea, and these drowning men do drown.”
          This sounds like some deep quite by a character of the Wire like Omar, Stringer Bell or Proposition Joe

          • 2 months ago
            Anonymous

            You want it be one way, but its the other way

        • 2 months ago
          Anonymous

          Ouchy anon, ouchy
          My papa died at sea
          true story

  3. 2 months ago
    Anonymous

    its good but almost too purple

    • 2 months ago
      Anonymous

      No, you are living in an AI/midwit dystopia that is so far removed from the native metaphorical language of prose that it appears Baroque. It's not purple, you are just white as a ghost.

      • 2 months ago
        Anonymous

        its clearly purple bro, if anybody other than melville wrote this everybody would be saying so

        • 2 months ago
          Anonymous

          >if anybody other than melville wrote this everybody would be saying so
          Black person his frantic outpours of beautifully embellished drivel is one of the reasons he's known in the first place. Your argument could end up being circular very fast

        • 2 months ago
          Anonymous

          >purple
          >directly touches thoughts and feelings with perfect accuracy
          I literally can't conceive any more 'economical' way to express these notions, by definition it isn't purple at all, the topic is simply lofty. Every subject has an appropriate verbiage after all. The words you'd use to describe life looking through itself are not the words you'd use to describe a trip to pizza hut. If Melville were describing a trip to pizza hut with the same wording then it would be purple. He isn't.

        • 2 months ago
          Anonymous

          I really wish ESL morons and morons from other boards would simply frick off and understand that literature is not for rats such as themselves.

  4. 2 months ago
    Anonymous

    >Our souls are like those orphans whose unwedded mothers die in bearing them:
    This could have been written by a zoomer

    • 2 months ago
      Anonymous

      >rent free

    • 2 months ago
      Anonymous

      Except that this one sentence is the core of moby dick. The orphan is ismael, the father is moby dick the mother is the pequod the wedding is the hunt of the whale, the grave is the perishing of the ship. And of course all these are in themselves again holding deeper meaning.

      • 2 months ago
        Anonymous

        You're saying my father killed my mother???

    • 2 months ago
      Anonymous

      >removes the absolutely essential context
      This line is good only between the two it is between.

  5. 2 months ago
    Anonymous

    >mingling threads of life
    IQfy reference

    • 2 months ago
      Anonymous

      That would be "mingling threads of death" I believe.

  6. 2 months ago
    Anonymous

    Compare with film:

    Anders : Ah, when creation shows so much beauty, how radiant must be the source!

    Hitch Hiking Sara : [to the Professor and Marianne] He is going to be a minister and Viktor a doctor.

    Viktor : Reciting poetry is against our agreement not to discuss God or science on the trip.

    Hitch Hiking Sara : It was beautiful!

    Viktor : How can anyone today study to become a minister!

    Anders : Your rationalism is as dry as dust.

    Viktor : I say that a modern man...

    Anders : I say that...

    Viktor : Believes in only himself and his biological death.

    Anders : Modern man is a figment of your imagination. Man regards death with horror.

    Viktor : Religion for the people. Opium for the aching limb.

    Hitch Hiking Sara : How *sweet* they both are! I always agree with the one I spoke with last.

  7. 2 months ago
    Anonymous

    This is a Moby Dick appreciation thread, you stupid nerds, get it together and post quotes
    >The sea had jeeringly kept his finite body up, but drowned the infinite of his soul. Not drowned entirely, though. Rather carried down alive to wondrous depths, where strange shapes of the unwarped primal world glided to and fro before his passive eyes, and the miserman, wisdom, revealed his hoarded heaps, and among the joyous, heartless, ever juvenile eternities, pip saw the multitudinous god omnipresent, coral insects, that out of the firmament of waters heaved the colossal orbs. He saw God’s foot print upon the treadle of the loom, and spoke it, and therefore his shipmates called him mad. So man’s insanity is heaven’s sense, and wandering from all mortal reason, man comes at last to that celestial thought, which, to reason, is absurd and frantic, and weal or woe, feels them uncompromised, indifferent as his God.

    • 2 months ago
      Anonymous

      Melvillenpcs are not capable of anything constructive.

  8. 2 months ago
    Anonymous

    Worthless fiction, great academic chapters.

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