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 when 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 a bookstore as soon as I can.
That is my substitute for the pistol and ball.

Herman Melville

Stichwörter: little this so modified okay

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