Jack London

One acts according to one’s lights, and more than that one cannot do.

He travels the fastest who travels alone.

It was the old tragedy of insularity trying to serve as mentor to the universal.

Poor, stupid slaves, he thought, while his sister talked. Small wonder the world belonged to the strong. The slaves were obsessed by their own slavery. A job was to them a golden fetich before which they fell down and worshipped.

They bored him when they talked with him, their little superficial minds were so filled with emptiness.

The function of beauty is joy-making.

Life that did not yearn toward life was in fair way toward ceasing.

I must have the real or nothing. An illusion that won’t convince is a palpable lie.

Hers was that common insularity of mind that makes human creatures believe that their color, creed, and politics are best and right and that other human creatures scattered over the world are less fortunately placed than they. It was the same insularity of mind that made the ancient Jew thank God he was not born a woman, and sent the modern missionary god-substituting to the ends of the earth; and it made Ruth desire to shape this man from other crannies of life into the likeness of the men who lived in her particular cranny of life.

The human organism achieved its highest purpose in love, that love must not be questioned, but must be accepted as the highest guerdon of life.

You are so big and generous that you challenge me to equal generousness... I’m sorry I came here to-day and met you. But it can’t be helped now, and I never expected it would turn out this way. But look here, Lizzie. I can’t begin to tell you how much I like you. I do more than like you. I admire and respect you. You are magnificent, and you are magnificently good.
But what’s the use of words?

The world itself was not so amazing because of the atoms and molecules that composed it according to the propulsions of irresistible force; what made it amazing was the fact that Ruth lived in it.

He was drunken in new and more profound ways-with Ruth, who had fired him with love and with a glimpse of higher and eternal life; with books, that had set a myriad maggots of desire gnawing in his brain; and with the sense of personal cleanliness he was achieving, that gave him even more superb health than what he had enjoyed and that made his whole body sing with physical well-being.

Ah, that was it!! He caught at the hem of the secret. It was the very thing that the great writers and master-poets did. It was the very thing that the great writers and master-poets did. That was why they were giants. They knew how to express what they thought, and felt, and saw.