The perfect holiday gift for that favorite avid reader. Herman Melville’s words jump off the page and onto your wall in our collection of “Moby Dick” inspired artwork.
This piece features a quote from Queequeg in His Coffin chapter of Herman Melville's Moby Dick. So much can be gleaned from each chapter, but this one is a particular favorite, the intriguing mystery that is Queequeg continues to unfold again in this chapter. His stark difference from anybody else of the time, the unknown place he comes from, his matter a fact nature, his mystery unfolds more and more. This is such a visually rich quote, we just love it!
We select strong, meaningful quotes for all the Book Plates, you will find yourself reading them over and over. The entire collection of quotes consists of nine. Such a great piece of literature to bring into your decor. It is the perfect fit obviously for nautical decor, but also for the literature lover.
Each bookplate is handcrafted. We print each on a hand-painted wood surface, which is printed then with UV inks. Framed in beautiful 100+-year-old reclaimed wood lath.
Available in three colors and two size options.
Color Options (use the pull-down menu to select)
- Navy Blue with White Lettering
- Grey with White Lettering
- White with Navy Blue Lettering
Size Options (use the pull-down menu to select)
-- Small 24" W x 33" H
-- Large 30" W x 40" H
Queequeg in His Coffin No. 110 (Full Quote)
With a wild whimsiness, he now used his coffin for a sea chest; and emptying into it his canvas bag of clothes, set them in order there. Many spare hours he spent, in carving the lid with all manner of grotesque figures and drawings; and it seemed that hereby he was striving, in his rude way, to copy parts of the twisted tattooing on his body. And this tattooing had been the work of a departed prophet and seer of his island, who, by those hieroglyphic marks, had written out on his body a complete theory of the heavens and the earth, and a mystical treatise on the art of attaining truth; so that Queequeg in his own proper person was a riddle to unfold; a wondrous work in one volume; but whose mysteries not even himself could read, though his own live heartbeat against them; and these mysteries were therefore destined in the end to moulder away with the living parchment whereon they were inscribed, and so be unsolved to the last.
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