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.

wide-spread­ing lawns

his head was sink­ing down upon his knees

He was lay­ing up trouble for him­self,

and with wag­ging tails and min­cing steps strove to pla­cate her wrath.

The young leader snarled ter­ribly, but his snarl broke mid­most into a tick­ling cough. Bleed­ing and cough­ing, already stricken, he sprang at the elder and fought while life faded from him, his legs go­ing weak be­neath him, the light of day dulling on his eyes, his blows and springs fall­ing shorter and shorter.

wrangling and scuff­ling

Yet the warm blood of the rab­bit tasted good in his mouth.

He smelled it and found it so re­cent that he crouched swiftly, and looked in the dir­ec­tion in which it dis­ap­peared. Then he turned de­lib­er­ately and took the right fork. The foot­print was much lar­ger than the one his own feet made, and he knew that in the wake of such a trail there was little meat for him.

One Eye scooped out mouth­fuls of the blood-soaked snow, and chewed and tasted and swal­lowed. This served as a rel­ish, and his hun­ger in­creased migh­tily; but he was too old in the world to for­get his cau­tion. He waited