Genres

Whale

Lists

Waiting for the Whales by Sheryl McFarlane

The Snail and the Whale by Julia Donaldson

Picture Books About Whales

121 books — 43 voters

One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, Blue Fish by Dr. Seuss

Moby-Dick or, The Whale by Herman Melville

The Old Man and the Sea by Ernest Hemingway

One Fish, Two Fish ...

531 books — 176 voters

The Velveteen Rabbit by Margery Williams Bianco

The Tale of Peter Rabbit by Beatrix Potter

Island of the Blue Dolphins by Scott O'Dell

All Creatures Great and Small

1,386 books — 221 voters

The Killer Whale Who Changed the World by Mark Leiren-Young

Cetaceans: An Addiction

70 books — 34 voters

Super Narwhal and Jelly Jolt by Ben Clanton

Narwhal Children's Books

45 books — 22 voters

Turtles of the Midnight Moon by Maria Jose Fitzgerald

#MGCarousel - Books About Marine Animals

35 books — 2 voters

Featured News & Interviews

I Love the…’90s! A Throwback Reading List for the Decade

Read »

“ I make music for whales, dolphins, ducks, and deaf people. Using only sign language and silence, my songs are meant to swim in your ears using the same power that allows the moon to create the tides. ”
― Jarod Kintz, Music is fluid, and my saxophone overflows when my ducks slosh in the sounds I make in elevators.

4 likes

“ Call me Ishmael. Some years ago--never mind how long precisely--having little or no money in my purse, and nothing particular to interest me on shore, I thought I would sail about a little and see the watery part of the world. It is a way I have of driving off the spleen and regulating the circulation. 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 Call me Ishmael. Some years ago--never mind how long precisely--having little or no money in my purse, and nothing particular to interest me on shore, I thought I would sail about a little and see the watery part of the world. It is a way I have of driving off the spleen and regulating the circulation. 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 whenever 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 sea as soon as I can. This is my substitute for pistol and ball. With a philosophical flourish Cato throws himself upon his sword; I quietly take to the ship. There is nothing surprising in this. If they but knew it, almost all men in their degree, some time or other, cherish very nearly the same feelings towards the ocean with me. There now is your insular city of the Manhattoes, belted round by wharves as Indian isles by coral reefs--commerce surrounds it with her surf. Right and left, the streets take you waterward. Its extreme downtown is the battery, where that noble mole is washed by waves, and cooled by breezes, which a few hours previous were out of sight of land. Look at the crowds of water-gazers there. Circumambulate the city of a dreamy Sabbath afternoon. Go from Corlears Hook to Coenties Slip, and from thence, by Whitehall, northward. What do you see?--Posted like silent sentinels all around the town, stand thousands upon thousands of mortal men fixed in ocean reveries. Some leaning against the spiles; some seated upon the pier-heads; some looking over the bulwarks of ships from China; some high aloft in the rigging, as if striving to get a still better seaward peep. But these are all landsmen; of week days pent up in lath and plaster--tied to counters, nailed to benches, clinched to desks. How then is this? Are the green fields gone? What do they here? But look! here come more crowds, pacing straight for the water, and seemingly bound for a dive. Strange! Nothing will content them but the extremest limit of the land; loitering under the shady lee of yonder warehouses will not suffice. No. They must get just as nigh the water as they possibly can without falling in. And there they stand--miles of them--leagues. Inlanders all, they come from lanes and alleys, streets and avenues--north, east, south, and west. Yet here they all unite. Tell me, does the magnetic virtue of the needles of the compasses of all those ships attract them thither? Once more. Say you are in the country; in some high land of lakes. Take almost any path you please, and ten to one it carries you down in a dale, and leaves you there by a pool in the stream. There is magic in it. Let the most absent-minded of men be plunged in his deepest reveries--stand that man on his legs, set his feet a-going, and he will infallibly lead you to water, if water there be in all that region. Should you ever be athirst in the great American desert, try this experiment, if your caravan happen to be supplied with a metaphysical professor. Yes, as every one knows, meditation and water are wedded for ever. ...more ”
― Herman Melville, Moby-Dick or, The Whale

23 likes

More quotes...

Videos Tagged “Whale”

Trailer for Narwhals: Arctic Whales in a Melting World

Dolphin Way: Rise of the Guardians

Whale

Whale Books

Lists

Featured News & Interviews

Quotes Tagged “Whale”

Videos Tagged “Whale”