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Make good the good in you...and you will slowly steal into the Hawaiian heart, which is all of softness, and gentleness, and sweetness.

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
Make
Softness
Good
Hawaii
Gentleness
Sweetness
Steal
Slowly
Stealing
Hawaiian
Heart
Hawaiians

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more you drink more you want
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I do not live for what the world thinks of me, but for what I think of myself.
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It is so much easier to live placidly and complacently. Of course, to live placidly and complacently is not to live at all.
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Love cannot in its very nature be peaceful or content. It is a restlessness, an unsatisfaction. I can grant a lasting love just as I can grant a lasting unsatisfaction but the lasting love cannot be coupled with possession, for love is pain and desire and possession is easement and fulfilment.
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Man rarely places a proper valuation upon his womankind, at least not until deprived of them.
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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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Men do not knowingly drink for the effect alcohol produces on the body. What they drink for is the brain-effect and if it must come through the body, so much the worse for the body.
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Mental or spiritual health, which is rationality, makes for progress, and the future demands greater and greater mental or spiritual health, greater and greater rationality. The brain must dominate and direct both the individual and society in the time to come, not the belly and the heart.
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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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There is an ecstasy that marks the summit of life, and beyond which life cannot rise. And such is the paradox of living, this ecstasy comes when one is most alive, and it comes as a complete forgetfulness that one is alive.
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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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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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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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Love is the sum of all the arts, as it is the reason for their existence.
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He was sounding the deeps of his nature, and of the parts of his nature that were deeper than he, going back into the womb of Time.
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There is such a thing as anaesthesia of pain, engendered by pain too exquisite to be borne.
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And not only did he learn by experience, but instincts long dead became alive again. The domesticated generations fell from him. In vague ways he remembered back to the youth of the breed, to the time the wild dogs ranged in packs through the primeval forest and killed their meat as they ran it down.
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Life is not a matter of holding good cards, but sometimes, playing a poor hand well.
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Socialism, when the last word is said, is merely a new economic and political system whereby more men can get food to eat.
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You stand on dead men's legs. You've never had any of your own. You couldn't walk alone between two sunrises and hustle the meat for your belly
Jack London