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On absentmindedness . . .

[L]ulled into such an opium-like listlessness of vacant, unconscious reverie is this absentminded youth by the blending cadence of the waves with thoughts, that at last he loses his identity; takes the mystic ocean at his feet for the visible image of that deep, blue, bottomless soul, pervading mankind and nature; and every strange, half-seen, gliding, beautiful thing that eludes him; every dimly-discovered, uprising fin of some indiscernible form, seems to him the embodiment of those elusive thoughts that only people the soul by continually flitting through it. In this enchanted mood, thy spirit ebbs away to whence it came; becomes diffused through time and space; like Wickliff's sprinkled Pantheistic ashes, forming at last a part of every shore the round globe over. Ah, ye admonitions and warnings! why stay ye not when ye come?  But rather are ye predictions than warnings, ye shadows!  Yet not so much predictions from without, as verifications of the foregoing things within. -Herman Melville Moby Dick