I just stumbled upon the following while reading Moby Dick on my Kindle.

Squeeze!  squeeze!  squeeze! all the morning long; I squeezed that sperm until I myself almost melted into it; I squeezed that sperm until a strange sort of insanity came over me; and I found myself unwittingly squeezing my co-laborers’ hands into it, mistaking their hands for the gentle globules.  Such an abounding, affectionate, friendly loving feeling did this avocation beget; that at last I was continually squeezing their hands, and looking up into their eyes sentimentally; as much as to say, –Oh!  my dear fellow beings, why should we longer cherish any social acerbities, or know the slightest ill-humor or envy!  Come; let us squeeze hands all round; nay, let us squeeze ourselves into each other; let us squeeze ourselves universally into the very milk and sperm of kindness.

Would that I could keep squeezing that sperm forever!

At this point the fact that my Uncle claims this to be his favorite book bothers me greatly.