Jack London

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.

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 …

...men, groping in the Arctic darkness, had found a yellow metal, and because steamship and transportation companies were booming the find, thousands of men were rushing into the Northland. These men wanted dogs, and the dogs they wanted …

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.

A good joke will sell quicker than a good poem, and, measured in sweat and blood, will bring better remuneration.

I would rather be ashes than dust! I would rather that my spark should burn out in a brilliant blaze than it should be stifled by dry-rot. I would rather be a superb meteor, every atom of me in magnificent glow, than a sleepy and permanent …

The trouble with him was that he was without imagination. He was quick and alert in the things of life, but only in the things, and not in the significances.

Life achieves its summit when it does to the uttermost that which it was equipped to do.

I love the flesh. I'm a pagan. “Who are they who speak evil of the clay? The very stars are made of clay like mine!”

Life? Bah! It has no value. Of cheap things it is the cheapest.

I do not live for what the world thinks of me, but for what I think of myself.