Jack London

Chopping down young saplings, he made them crossbars of a scaffold by lashing them high up to the trunks of standing trees

hoisted the coffin

But scarcely had the cheer of its light departed

considered love the finest thing in the world. It was love that had worked the revolution in him, changing him from an uncouth sailor to a student and an artist; therefore, to him, the finest and greatest of the three, greater than learning and artistry, was love.

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

You worship at the shrine of the established,"

knew, now, that he had not really loved her. It was an idealized Ruth he had loved, an ethereal creature of his own creating, the bright and luminous spirit of his love-poems. The real bourgeois Ruth, with all the bourgeois failings and with the hopeless cramp of the bourgeois psychology in her mind, he had never loved.

And at the instant he knew, he ceased to know.

For what reason under the sun do men and women come together if not for the exchange of the best that is in them? And the best that is in them is what they are interested in, the thing by which they make their living, the thing they’ve specialized on and sat up days and nights over, and even dreamed about.

he was manifestly out of place