Jack London

You wanted to create beauty, but how could you when you knew nothing about the nature of beauty? You wanted to write about life when you knew nothing of the essential characteristics of life. You wanted to write about the world and the scheme of existence when the world was a Chinese puzzle to you and all that you could have written would have been about what you did not know of the scheme of existence.

Either kill for survival or be killed and eaten yourself

eternity laughing at the futility of life and the effort of life.

toiled a string of wolfish dogs

beside the replenished fire,

The darned cuss

They’ve ate the leather offen both ends

The animal was certainly not cinnamon-coloured. Its coat was the true wolf-coat. The dominant colour was grey, and yet there was to it a faint reddish hue – a hue that was baffling, that appeared and disappeared, that was more like an illusion of the vision, now grey, distinctly grey, and again giving hints and glints of a vague redness of colour not classifiable in terms of ordinary experience

screened from his sight by trees and thickets

Then he heard a great outcry of snarls and yelps