You cannot hide the soul. - Herman Melville

وأنا الصياد الذى لا يرتاح أبداَ.
الصياد الذى لا وطن له.
والتى أقصدها ما تزال تطير أمامى;
وأنا سأتبعها،
مع أنها قادتنى إلى ماوراء الجبال،
عبر بحارٍ بلا شموس،
داخل الليل والموت

I wonder, Flask, whether the world is anchored anywhere; if she is, she swings with an uncommon long cable, though.

Now, had Tashtego perished in that head, it had been a very precious perishing; smothered in the very whitest and daintiest of fragrant spermaceti; coffined, hearsed, and tombed in the secret inner chamber and sanctum sanctorum of the whale. Only one sweeter end can readily be recalled — the delicious death of an Ohio honey-hunter, who seeking honey in the crotch of a hollow tree, found such exceeding store of it, that leaning too far over, it sucked him in, so that he died embalmed. How many, think ye, have likewise fallen into Plato's honey head, and sweetly perished there?