Herman Melville

“ Our lungs are two pipes which we constantly smoke."
"Puff, puff! how we puff," cried old Mohi. "All thought is a puff."
"Ay," said Babbalanja, "not more smoke in that skull-bowl of yours than in the skull on your shoulders: both ends alike."
"Puff! puff! how we puff," cried Yoomy. "But in every puff, there hangs a wreath. In every puff, off flies a care."
"Ay, there they go," cried Mohi, "there goes another—and, there, and there;—this is the way to get rid of them my worshipful lord; puff them aside."
"Yoomy," said Media, "give us that pipe song of thine. ”

“ Once ignited, nothing like longevity pertains to them. They never grow old. Why, my lord, the stump of a cigarret is an abomination; and two of them crossed are more of a memento-mori, than a brace of thigh-bones at right angles."
"So they are, so they are," cried King Media. "Then, mortals, puff we away at our pipes. Puff, puff, I say. Ah! how we puff! But thus we demi-gods ever puff at our ease."
"Puff; puff, how we puff," cried Babbalanja. "but life itself is a puff and a wheeze. ”

“ No wonder, then, their flesh is so fragrant; their upper jaws as the visors of vinaigrettes."
"Nay, you are all wrong," cried King Media.
Then, laughing to himself:—"It's pleasant to sit by, a demi-god, and hear the surmisings of mortals, upon things they know nothing about; theology, or amber, or ambergris, it's all the same. But then, did I always out with every thing I know, there would be no conversing with these comical creatures.
"Listen, old Mohi; ambergris is a morbid secretion of the Spermaceti whale; for like you mortals, the whale is at times a sort of hypochondriac and dyspeptic. ”