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To the last, I grapple with thee From Hell's heart, I stab at thee For hate's sake, I spit my last breath at thee.
Herman Melville
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Herman Melville
Age: 72 †
Born: 1819
Born: August 1
Died: 1891
Died: September 28
Art Collector
Essayist
Lecturer
Literary Critic
Novelist
Poet
Sailor
Teacher
Writer
Manhattan borough
New York City
Hermann Melville
Herman Melvill
Heart
Breath
Breaths
Thee
Sake
Hell
Grapple
Lasts
Stab
Last
Spit
Hate
Wrath
More quotes by Herman Melville
It is hard to be finite upon an infinite subject, and all subjects are infinite.
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The sweetest joys of life grow in the very jaws of its perils.
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Prayer draws us near to our own souls.
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The world is forever babbling of originality but there never yet was an original man, in the sense intended by the world the first man himself--who according to the Rabbins was also the first author--not being an original the only original author being God.
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All truth is profound.
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Tis no dishonor when he who would dishonor you, only dishonors himself.
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Truth uncompromisingly told will always have its ragged edges.
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All wars are boyish, and are fought by boys.
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In armies, navies, cities, or families, in nature herself, nothing more relaxes good order than misery.
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Of all the preposterous assumptions of humanity over humanity, nothing exceeds most of the criticisms made on the habits of the poor by the well-housed, well- warmed, and well-fed.
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Of all human events, perhaps, the publication of a first volume of verses is the most insignificant but though a matter of no moment to the world, it is still of some concern to the author.
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There are doubts, sir, which, if man have them, it is not man that can solve them.
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Lo! ye believers in gods all goodness, and in man all ill, lo you! see the omniscient gods oblivious of suffering man and man, though idiotic, and knowing not what he does, yet full of the sweet things of love and gratitude.
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Yea, foolish mortals, Noah's flood is not yet subsided two thirds of the fair world it yet covers.
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Youth is the time when hearts are large.
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There is sorrow in the world, but goodness too and goodness that is not greenness, either, no more than sorrow is.
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We die of too much life.
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Yet habit - strange thing! what cannot habit accomplish?
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Any appellative at all savouring of arbitrary rank is unsuitable to a man of liberal and catholic mind.
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Aye, aye! and I'll chase him round Good Hope, and round the Horn, and round the Norway Maelstrom, and round perdition's flames before I give him up.
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