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But under it all they were men, penetrating the land of desolation and mockery and silence, puny adventurers bent on colossal adventure, pitting themselves against the might of a world as remote and alien and pulseless as the abysses of space.

Jack London

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Jack London
Age: 40 †
Born: 1876
Born: January 12
Died: 1916
Died: November 22
Author
Autobiographer
Diarist
Essayist
Journalist
Novelist
Poet
Prosaist
Science Fiction Writer
Screenwriter
San Francisco County
California
John Griffith Chaney
John Griffith Jack London
John Griffith Chaney London
John Griffith Jack London Chaney
World
Bent
Penetrating
Aliens
Adventurer
Adventure
Desolation
Silence
Colossal
Land
Mockery
Pitting
Space
Remote
Abysses
Might
Alien
Adventurers
Men
Abyss
Puny

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If a company is distributing images and video then obviously they need bandwidth solutions. But if they are looking to the mass market then they must develop WAP sites.
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Don't loaf and invite inspiration light out after it with a club, and if you don't get it you will nonetheless get something that looks remarkably like it.
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His conclusion was that things were not always what they appeared to be. The cub's fear of the unknown was an inherited distrust, and it had now been strengthened by experience. Thenceforth, in the nature of things, he would possess an abiding distrust of appearances.
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A good joke will sell quicker than a good poem, and, measured in sweat and blood, will bring better remuneration.
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He was always striving to attain it. The life that was so swiftly expanding within him, urged him continually toward the wall of light. The life that was within him knew that it was the one way out, the way he was predestined to tread.
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The human race is doomed to sink back farther and farther into the primitive night ere again it begins its bloody climb upward to civilization.
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They were not half living, or quarter living. They were simply so many bags of bones in which sparks of life fluttered faintly.
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A man with a club is a law-maker.
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Love, genuine passionate love, was his for the first time.
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The Law is a lie, and through it men lie most shamelessly.
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But especially he loved to run in the dim twilight of the summer midnights, listening to the subdued and sleepy murmurs of the forest, reading signs and sounds as a man may read a book, and seeking for the mysterious something that called -- called, waking or sleeping, at all times, for him to come.
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Too much is written by the men who can't write about the men who do write.
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The Wild still lingered in him and the wolf in him merely slept.
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Not all the monsters have fangs.
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The Stone the Builders Rejected.
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No I did not hate him. The word is too weak. There is no word in the language strong enough to describe my feelings. I can say only that I knew the gnawing of a desire for vengeance on him that was a pain in itself and that exceeded all the bounds of language.
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Everything is good . . . as long as it is unpossessed. Satiety and possession are Death's horses they run in span.
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It was the masterful and incommunicable wisdom of eternity laughing at the futility of life and the effort of life. It was the Wild, the savage, frozen-hearted Northland Wild. (Ch.1)
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There's only one way to make a beginning, and that is to begin and begin with hard work, and patience, prepared for all the disappoint­ment s.
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