All visible objects, man, are but as
pasteboard masks. But in each event — in the living act, the undoubted deed —
there, some unknown but still reasoning thing puts forth the mouldings of its
features from behind the unreasoning mask. If man will strike, strike through
the mask! How can the prisoner reach outside except by thrusting through the
wall? To me, the white whale is that wall, shoved near to me. Sometimes I think
there's naught beyond. But 'tis enough. He tasks me; he heaps me; I see in him
outrageous strength, with an inscrutable malice sinewing it.

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