They possess this chaos. What do they do with it? Implacable deeds: we know not what. The den of the winds is more monstrous than a lions’ den. How many corpses there are in its deep recesses! The winds drive this great obscure and bitter mass pitilessly onward. We hear them always, but they listen to no one. They commit acts resembling crimes. We know not whom they are attacking with these white flecks of foam. What impious ferocity there is in bringing about a shipwreck!
Wind, not the octopus, is the sperm whale of this novel
