I stood looking at him a moment.
For all his tattooings he was on the whole a clean, comely looking cannibal.

What's all this fuss I have been making about, thought I to myself--the man's a human being just as I am: he has just as much reason to fear me, as I have to be afraid of him.

Better sleep with a sober cannibal than a drunken Christian.
"Landlord," said I, "tell him to stash his tomahawk there, or pipe, or whatever you call it; tell him to stop smoking, in short, and I will turn in with him.

But I don't fancy having a man smoking in bed with me.
It's dangerous.

Besides, I ain't insured." This being told to Queequeg, he at once complied, and again politely motioned me to get into bed--rolling over to one side as much as to say--"I won't touch a leg of ye." "Good night, landlord," said I, "you may go." I turned in, and never slept better in my life..