Upon walking next morning about daylight, I found Queequeg's arm thrown over me in the most loving and affectionate manner. You had almost thought I had been his wife. The counterpane was of patchwork, full of odd parti-colored squares and triangles; and this arm was tattoed all over an interminable Cretan labyrinth of a figure (...) this same arm of his, I l say, looked for all the world like a strip of that same patchwork quilt.
Moby Dick, chapter 4.