Herman Melville,
White-Jacket — Chapter XCI
(1850)
“ Make a trade, a business, a vile recurring calling of smoking? And, perhaps, when those sedative fumes have steeped you in the grandest of reveries, and, circle over circle, solemnly rises some immeasurable dome in your soul--far away, swelling and heaving into the vapour you raise--as if from one Mozart's grandest marches of a temple were rising, like Venus from the sea--at such a time, to have your whole Parthenon tumbled about your ears by the knell of the ship's bell announcing the expiration of the half-hour for smoking! ”
