Jack London
Jack London
John Griffith "Jack" London was an American novelist, journalist, and social activist. A pioneer in the then-burgeoning world of commercial magazine fiction, he was one of the first fiction writers to obtain worldwide celebrity and a large fortune from his fiction alone...
NationalityAmerican
ProfessionNovelist
Date of Birth12 January 1876
CitySan Francisco, CA
CountryUnited States of America
wall light way
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.
futility-of-life laughing effort
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)
silent fury torment
He was a silent fury who no torment could tame.
want drink
more you drink more you want
couple men order
The fortunate man is the one who cannot take more than a couple of drinks without becoming intoxicated. The unfortunate wight is the one who can take many glasses without betraying a sign; who must take numerous glasses in order to get the ‘kick’.
taste judgment mankind
But I am I. And I won't subordinate my taste to the unanimous judgment of mankind
mistake book my-mistakes
My mistake was in ever opening the books.
immoral
He was not immoral, but merely unmoral.
jealous
I was jealous; therefore I loved.
instant knows
And at the instant he knew, he ceased to know.
companion
Having no new companions, nothing remained for him but to read.
spring winter silence
The ghostly winter silence had given way to the great spring murmur of awakening life.
growth
Fear urged him to go back, but growth drove him on.
loss men brain
Do you know the only value life has is what life puts upon itself? And it is of course overestimated, for it is of necessity prejudiced in its own favour. Take that man I had aloft. He held on as if he were a precious thing, a treasure beyond diamonds of rubies. To you? No. To me? Not at all. To himself? Yes. But I do not accept his estimate. He sadly overrates himself. There is plenty more life demanding to be born. Had he fallen and dripped his brains upon the deck like honey from the comb, there would have been no loss to the world. The supply is too large.