Q & A with Starbuck:ISHMAEL: Witness the white bear of the poles, and the white shark of the tropics; what but their smooth, flaky whiteness makes them the transcendent horrors they are?
ISHMAEL: Why to the man of untutored ideality, who happens to be but loosely acquainted with the peculiar character of the day, does the bare mention of Whitsuntide marshal in the fancy such long, dreary, speechless processions of slow-pacing pilgrims, down-cast and hooded with new-fallen snow?
THE DOGLET: what?
ISHMAEL: Or why, irrespective of all latitudes and longitudes, does the name of the White Sea exert such a spectralness over the fancy, while that of the Yellow Sea lulls us with mortal thoughts of long lacquered mild afternoons on the waves, followed by the gaudiest and yet sleepiest of sunsets?
THE DOGLET: what?
ISHMAEL: But though without dissent this point be fixed, how is mortal man to account for it?
THE DOGLET: what?
ISHMAEL: ... is it for these reasons that there is such a dumb blankness, full of meaning, in a wide landscape of snows -- a colorless, all-color of atheism from which we shrink?
THE DOGLET: outside outside outside outside outside outside ... what?
ISHMAEL: Wonder ye then at the fiery hunt?
what? (most excellent picture of fearless starbuck)
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