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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.

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
Pain
Exceeded
Desire
Vengeance
Hate
Describe
Strong
Bounds
Feelings
Weak
Enough
Knew
Word
Language
Gnawing

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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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On the sled, in the box, lay a third man whose toil was over, - a man whom the Wild had conquered and beaten down until he would never move nor struggle again. It is not the way of the Wild to like movement. Life is an offense to it, for life is movement and the Wild aims always to destroy movement.
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She was thrilling to a desire that urged her to go forward, to be in closer to that fire, to be squabbling with the dogs, and to be avoiding and dodging the stumbling feet of men.
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He became quicker of movement than the other dogs, swifter of foot, craftier, deadlier, more lithe, more lean with ironlike muscle and sinew, more enduring, more cruel more ferocious, and more intelligent. He had to become all these things, else he would not have held his own nor survived the hostile environment in which he found himself.
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Ever bike? Now that's something that makes life worth living!
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He felt strangely numb. As though from a great distance, he was aware that he was being beaten. The last sensations of pain left him. He no longer felt anything, though very faintly he could hear the impact of the club upon his body. But it was no longer his body, it seemed so far away.
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The Law is a lie, and through it men lie most shamelessly.
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I would rather be ashes than dust.
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Denied the outlet, through play, of his energies, he recoiled upon himself and developed his mental processes. He became cunning he had idle time in which to devote himself to thoughts of trickery.
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Darn the wheel of the world! Why must it continually turn over? Where is the reverse gear?
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. . . and God knows we are sensitive to the suffering that has sometimes broken loose to come billowing forth from your appendages like the pungent vapors of whales - often it appears that in this life of experience and accommodation we pay just as dearly for our triumphs as we do for our defeats. But Sissy . . . hold on!
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He was not immoral, but merely unmoral.
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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 ghostly winter silence had given way to the great spring murmur of awakening life.
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He had come to know quite thoroughly the world in which he lived. His outlook was bleak and materialistic. The world as he saw it was a fierce and brutal world, a world without warmth, a world in which caresses and affection and the bright sweetness of spirit did not exist.
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I'll have you know I do the swearing on this ship. If I need your assitance I'll call you. Capt. Wolf Larsen
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