John Griffith "Jack" London (born John Griffith Chaney, January 12, 1876 – November 22, 1916) was an American novelist, journalist, and s...
I do not live for what the world thinks of me, but for what I think of myself. Jack London
I do not live for what the world thinks of me, but for what I think of myself.
I'd rather sing one wild song and burst my heart with it, than live a thousand years watching my digestion and being afraid of the wet. Jack London
I'd rather sing one wild song and burst my heart with it, than live a thousand years watching my digestion and being afraid of the wet.
Man rarely places a proper valuation upon his womankind, at least not until deprived of them. Jack London
Man rarely places a proper valuation upon his womankind, at least not until deprived of them.
San Francisco is gone. Nothing remains of it but memories. Jack London
San Francisco is gone. Nothing remains of it but memories.
Love, genuine passionate love, was his for the first time.” Jack London
Love, genuine passionate love, was his for the first time.”
He was a silent fury who no torment could tame. Jack London
He was a silent fury who no torment could tame.
Life is so short. I would rather sing one song than interpret the thousand. Jack London
Life is so short. I would rather sing one song than interpret the thousand.
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. Jack London
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.
You can't wait for inspiration. You have to go after it with a club. Jack London
You can't wait for inspiration. You have to go after it with a club.
The Wild still lingered in him and the wolf in him merely slept. Jack London
The Wild still lingered in him and the wolf in him merely slept.
The scab is a traitor to his God, his mother, and his class. Jack London
The scab is a traitor to his God, his mother, and his class.
The ghostly winter silence had given way to the great spring murmur of awakening life. Jack London
The ghostly winter silence had given way to the great spring murmur of awakening life.
