“Far more potent were the memories of his heredity that gave things he had never seen before a seeming familiarity; the instincts (which were but the memories of his ancestors become habits) which had lapsed in later days, and still later, in him, quickened and became alive again.” -Jack London, The Call of the Wild [...]
“And when, on the still cold nights, he pointed his nose at a star and howled long and wolflike, it was his ancestors, dead and dust, pointing nose at star and howling down through the centuries and through him. And his cadences were their cadences, the cadences which voiced their woe and what to them [...]
“They were men, penetrating the land of desolation and mockery and silence, puny adventurers bent on colossal adventure, pitting themselves against the might of a world as remote and alien and pulseless as the abysses of space.” -Jack London, White Fang
Speculations abound on when the front-running teams – the Gang of Four – will get [...]
“He was older than the days he had seen and the breaths he had drawn. He linked the past with the present, and the eternity behind him throbbed through him in a mighty rhythm to which he swayed as the tides and seasons swayed. He [was] . . . a broad-breasted dog, white-fanged and long-furred; [...]
“It is clear and cold, and there is no wind. When daylight comes we can see a long ways off. And it is very quiet. We can hear no sound but the beat of our hearts, and in the silence that is a very loud sound.” -Jack London, The Sundog Trail (Harper’s Monthly, December, 1905)
As [...]