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The Law is a lie, and through it men lie most shamelessly.
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
Shamelessly
Law
Lying
Men
More quotes by Jack London
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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 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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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 disappointÂment s.
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Buck did not read the newspapers, or he would have known that trouble was brewing, not alone for himself, but for every tide-water dog, strong of muscle and with warm, long hair, from Puget Sound to San Diego.
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Life is not a matter of holding good cards, but sometimes, playing a poor hand well.
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He was justifying his existence, than which life can do no greater for life achieves its summit when it does to the uttermost that which it was equipped to do.
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He was a killer, a thing that preyed, living on the things that lived, unaided, alone, by virtue of his own strength and prowess, surviving triumphantly in a hostile environment where only the strong survive.
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Life is so short. I would rather sing one song than interpret the thousand.
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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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A man with a club is a law-maker.
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He was mastered by the sheer surging of life, the tidal wave of being, the perfect joy of each separate muscle, joint, and sinew in that it was everything that was not death, that it was aglow and rampant, expressing itself in movement, flying exultantly under the stars.
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Pray do not interrupt me, he wrote. I am smiling.
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My life shall be free and broad and great, and I will not be the slave to the sense delights which chained my ancient ancestry. I reject the heritage. I break the entail. And who are you to say I am unwise?
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A bone to the dog is not charity. Charity is the bone shared with the dog, when you are just as hungry as the dog.
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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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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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I would rather that my spark should burn out in a brilliant blaze than it should be stifled by dry-rot.
Jack London