Sunday 23 January 2022

"The pale Usher—threadbare in coat, heart, body, and brain; I see him now."

 "Call me Ishmael. Some years ago- never mind how long precisely - having little or no money in my purse, and nothing particular to interest me on shore, I thought I would sail about a little and see the watery part of the world. It is a way I have of driving off the spleen and regulating the circulation. Whenever I find myself growing grim about the mouth; whenever it is a damp, drizzly November in my soul; whenever I find myself involuntarily pausing before coffin warehouses, and bringing up the rear of every funeral I meet; and especially whenever my hypos get such an upper hand of me, that it requires a strong moral principle to prevent me from deliberately stepping into the street, and methodically knocking people's hats off- then, I account it high time to get to sea as soon as I can." Moby Dick by Herman Melville

Ishmael Smith, 1950 to 23rd January 2020
Across the dark seas of night to the bright shores of morning.



Mike said...

A time to reflect for us all, Mrs I. I think we were all on a journey.

As an aside, I would add that I very much appreciate your decision and efforts in continuing with this blog and our conversations.

Best wishes, Mike

Anonymous said...

Well said, mr Mike. Seconded.


Yardarm said...

Yes, thank you, Mrs Ishmael.

mrs ishmael said...

Thank you, ishmaelites. It was what he wanted. mr ishmael was the first to mock the whole idea of doing what the deceased wanted - he'd say, the bloke's dead, that's why we're at the funeral, what he wants doesn't matter anymore. But - but - he did want somewhere for us all to hang out together on this corner of cyber street, and I have been helped enormously by you all. So thank you for keeping the candle alight.

Bungalow Bill said...

Same as the others above, Mrs I. Still a haven.

mrs ishmael said...

Thank you, mr B.B.