Starbuck: And now he’s become open, the doors of his soul are open, the windows of his soul are open, the doors and windows of his mouth are open; and the storms come, and the storms flood him, for everything within him is open. There is nothing outside of him that cannot run in with all the water: he is open to everything disgusting upon the face of the earth. I shall go and cry out into the hurricane: "Is there nothing dry and clean on the face of the earth, is there no place that is dry and clean?" He cannot find equilibrium nor balance in this place, this place is all wild confusion to him, this place is all dizzy feeling to him. A calm sunny day to him is like a storm, with its flood of confused sensation, with its flood of confused thought. And now all the sundials have cracks down their centers; and now all the hourglasses have shattered; and now all the watches and clocks have broken hands: there is nothing that makes any sense, nothing we can read and say of it: "Yes, I know what this means."