Top 182 Quotes & Sayings by Jack London - Page 4

Then one can't make a living out of poetry? Certainly not. What fool expects to? Out of rhyming, yes.

The hand descended. Nearer and nearer it came. It touched the ends of his upstanding hair. He shrank down under it. It followed down after him, pressing more closely against him. Shrinking, almost shivering. He still managed to hold himself together. It was a torment, this hand that touched him and violated his instinct. He could not forget in a day all the evil that had been wrought him at the hands of men.