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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 .
$
substitute < replacement
whale < zebra
myself < oneself