Dylan Dossier: The Jack London File

Something may be noticed for the pure sake of noticing. There is no attempt to explain it at once, no attempt to give it an importance. The thing is just noticed. If it gives rise to an idea, then so much the better: if not, there is no attempt to wring an idea from it. Later on it might prove useful. But it is noted in its pure form, unaltered by considerations of importance or having to fit into a context. In this way the richness of an open consciousness embraces all that is offered without the need to explain or classify or construct at every instant. - Edward de Bono

I can conceive of no more laughable spectacle than that of a human standing up on his hind legs and yowling plagiarism. No man with a puny imagination can continue plagiarizing and make a success of it. No man with a vivid imagination, on the other hand, needs to plagiarize. - Jack London

Chronicles: Volume One, p. 13:
"Nelson had never been a bold innovator like the early singers who sang like they were navigating burning ships.”

"The Seed of McCoy" by Jack London:
“Captain Davenport had been under the fearful strain of navigating his burning ship for over two weeks, and he was beginning to feel that he had had enough.”
==
Chronicles: Volume One, p. 21 (regarding Dave Van Ronk):
“He was gruff, a mass of bristling hair, don't give a damn attitude, a confident hunter.”

“Bâtard” by Jack London:
“He was broad-chested, powerfully muscled, of far more than ordinary size, and his neck from head to shoulders was a mass of bristling hair — to all appearances a full-blooded wolf.”
==
Chronicles: Volume One, p. 22:
“My breath froze in the air, but I didn't feel the cold.”

White Fang by Jack London:
“Their breath froze in the air as it left their mouths, spouting forth in spumes of vapor that settled upon the hair of their bodies and formed into crystals of frost.”
==
Chronicles: Volume One, p. 26:
“Ray was like a character from out of some of the songs I'd been singing, someone who had seen life, done deeds and lived romances — had traipsed around, had a broad grasp of the country, its conditions.”

"An Odyssey of the North" by Jack London:
“They had seen life, and done deeds, and lived romances; but they did not know it.”

"The Priestly Prerogative" by Jack London:
“It was she who studied maps, and catechised miners, and hammered geography and locations into his hollow head, till everybody marveled at his broad grasp of the country and knowledge of its conditions.”
==
Chronicles: Volume One, p. 26:
“Ray was maybe ten years older than me-from Virginia he was like an old wolf, gaunt and battle-scarred - came from a long line of ancestry made up of bishops, generals, even a colonial governor.”

Call of the Wild by Jack London:
“Then an old wolf, gaunt and battle-scarred, came forward.”
==
Chronicles: Volume One, p. 28:
“The world was being blown apart and chaos was already driving its fist into the face of all new visitors.”

"The Priestly Prerogative" by Jack London:
“Parker gasped, was within an ace of driving his fist into the face of his boorish visitor, but held himself awkwardly in check.”
==
Chronicles: Volume One, pp. 28 - 29:
Coming from a long line of Alexanders and Julius Caesers, Genghis Khans, Charlemagnes and Napoleons, they carved up the world like a really dainty dinner.”

"Goliah" by Jack London:
“An heroic figure had been made out of Goliah. He was the man, or the demigod, rather, who had turned the planet over. The deeds of Alexander, Caesar, Genghis Khan, and Napoleon were as the play of babes alongside his colossal achievements.”

"The Priestly Prerogative" by Jack London:
“But at last their mutual creation, a really dainty dinner, was completed.”
==
Chronicles: Volume One, p 29:
“Whether they parted their hair in the middle or wore a Viking helmet, they would not be denied and were impossible to reckon with — rude barbarians stampeding across the earth and hammering out their own ideas of geography.”

"The Priestly Prerogative" by Jack London:
“It was she who melted the stony heart and wrung credit from the rude barbarian who presided over the destiny of the P. C. Company; yet it was Edwin Bentham to whom the concession was ostensibly granted. It was she who dragged her baby up and down creeks, over benches and divides, and on a dozen wild stampedes; yet everybody remarked what an energetic fellow that Bentham was. It was she who studied maps, and catechised miners, and hammered geography and locations into his hollow head, till everybody marveled at his broad grasp of the country and knowledge of its conditions.”
==
Chronicles: Volume One, p. 35:
“It was like the unbroken sea of frost that lay outside the window and you had to have awkward footgear to walk on it.”

"An Odyssey of the North" by Jack London:
“An unbroken sea of frost, its wide expanse stretched away into the unknown east. The snowshoes were withdrawn from the lashings of the sleds. Axel Gunderson shook hands and stepped to the fore, his great webbed shoes sinking a fair half yard into the feathery surface and packing the snow so the dogs should not wallow. His wife fell in behind the last sled, betraying long practice in the art of handling the awkward footgear.”
==
Chronicles: Volume One, p. 35:
"A certain rude rhythm was making it all sway, though."

"The Master of Mystery" by Jack London:
"A certain rude rhythm characterized his frenzy, and when all were under its sway, swinging their bodies in accord with his and venting their cries in unison, he sat bolt upright, with arm outstretched and long, talon-like finger extended."
==
Chronicles: Volume One, p. 43:
"There was a lot of halting and waiting, little acknowledgment, little affirmation, but sometimes all it takes is a wink or a nod from some unexpected place to vary the tedium of a baffling existence."

"Where The Trail Forks" by Jack London:
"He had pleasured in camp-fire chats with her, not as a man who knew himself to be man and she woman, but as a man might with a child, and as a man of his make certainly would if for no other reason than to vary the tedium of a bleak existence."
==
Chronicles: Volume One, p. 48:
"Bobby and I would meet again sometime later at a folk festival. Right from the start, you could tell that Neuwirth had a taste for provocation and that nothing was going to restrict his freedom. He was in a mad revolt against something."

White Fang by Jack London:
"It was not a good grip, being too low down toward the chest; but Cherokee held on. White Fang sprang to his feet and tore wildly around, trying to shake off the bulldog's body. It made him frantic, this clinging, dragging weight. It bound his movements, restricted his freedom. It was like the trap, and all his instinct resented it and revolted against it. It was a mad revolt."
==
Chronicles: Volume One, p. 48:
"Like Kerouac had immortalized Neal Cassady in On the Road, somebody should have immortalized Neuwirth. He was that kind of character. He could talk to anybody until they felt like all their intelligence was gone. With his tongue, he ripped and slashed and could make anybody uneasy, also could talk his way out of anything. Nobody knew what to make of him. If there ever was a renaissance man leaping in and out of things, he would have to be it. Neuwirth was a bulldog."

White Fang by Jack London:
"But White Fang could not get at the soft underside of the throat. The bulldog stood too short, while its massive jaws were an added protection. White Fang darted in and out unscathed, while Cherokee's wounds increased. Both sides of his neck and head were ripped and slashed. He bled freely, but showed no signs of being disconcerted. He continued his plodding pursuit, though once, for the moment baffled, he came to a full stop and blinked at the men who looked on, at the same time wagging his stump of a tail as an expression of his willingness to fight.

In that moment White Fang was in upon him and out, in passing ripping his trimmed remnant of an ear. With a slight manifestation of anger, Cherokee took up the pursuit again, running on the inside of the circle White Fang was making, and striving to fasten his deadly grip on White Fang's throat. The bulldog missed by a hair's-breadth, and cries of praise went up as White Fang doubled suddenly out of danger in the opposite direction.

The time went by. White Fang still danced on, dodging and doubling, leaping in and out, and ever inflicting damage. And still the bulldog, with grim certitude, toiled after him. Sooner or later he would accomplish his purpose, get the grip that would win the battle. In the meantime he accepted all the punishment the other could deal him. His tufts of ears had become tassels, his neck and shoulders were slashed in a score of places, and his very lips were cut and bleeding -- all from those lightning snaps that were beyond his foreseeing and guarding."
==
Chronicles: Volume One, p. 49:
"A couple of times I dropped a coin right into the played 'The Man That Got Away' by Judy Garland. The song always did something to me, not in any stupefying, tremendous kind of way."

"The White Silence" by Jack London:
"Nature has many tricks wherewith she convinces man of his finity--the ceaseless flow of the tides, the fury of the storm, the shock of the earthquake, the long roll of heaven's artillery--but the most tremendous, the most stupefying of all, is the passive phase of the White Silence. All movement ceases, the sky clears, the heavens are as brass; the slightest whisper seems sacrilege, and man becomes timid, affrighted at the sound of his own voice."

(Later in Chronicles: Volume One material from this passage is used to describe Hank Williams.)
==
Chronicles: Volume One, p. 54:
"It was freezing winter with a snap and sparkle in the air, nights full of blue haze. It seemed like ages ago since I'd lay in the green grass and it smelled of true summer-glints of light dancing off the lakes and yellow butterflies on the black tarred roads. Walking down 7th Avenue in Manhattan in the early hours, you'd sometimes see people sleeping in the back-seats of cars. I was lucky I had places to stay-even people who lived in New York sometimes didn't have one. There's a lot of things that I didn't have, didn't have too much of a concrete identity either. 'I'm a rambler-I'm a gambler. I'm a long way from home.' That pretty much summed it up."

"The Men of Forty-Mile" by Jack London:
"'Reason or no reason, it's the truth I'm tellin' ye. Last fall, a year gone, 'twas Sitka Charley and meself saw the sight, droppin' down the riffle ye'll remember below Fort Reliance. An' regular fall weather it was--the glint o' the sun on the golden larch an' the quakin' aspens; an' the glister of light on ivery ripple; an' beyand, the winter an' the blue haze of the North comin' down hand in hand. It's well ye know the same, with a fringe to the river an' the ice formin' thick in the eddies--an' a snap an' sparkle to the air, an' ye a- feelin' it through all yer blood, atakin' new lease of life with ivery suck of it. 'Tis then, me boy, the world grows small an' the wandtherlust lays ye by the heels."
==
Chronicles: Volume One, p. 56:
"Ray had told me to read Faulkner. 'It's hard, what Faulkner does,' he said. 'It's hard putting deep feeling into words. It's easier to write Das Kapital.'”

Letters From Jack London: Containing an Unpublished Correspondence Between London and Sinclair Lewis, p. 78:
"Thinkers do not suffer from lack of expression; their thought is their expression. Feelers do; it is the hardest thing in the world to put feeling, and deep feeling, into words. From the standpoint of expression, it is easier to write a Das Capital (sic) in four volumes than a simple lyric of as many stanzas."
==
Chronicles: Volume One, p. 58:
"Ray wasn't like that. He wasn't somebody who would leave footprints on the sands of time. He had blood in his eyes, the face of a man who could do no wrong — total lack of viciousness or wickedness or even sinfulness in his face. He seemed like a man who could conquer and command anytime he wished to."

The Sea-Wolf by Jack London:
"'And why do you think I have made this thing?' he demanded abruptly. 'Dreaming to leave footprints on the sands of time?' He laughed one of his horrible mocking laughs. 'Not at all. To get it patented, to make money from it, to revel in piggishness, with all night in while other men do the work. That's my purpose. Also, I have enjoyed working it out.'

'The creative joy,' I murmured.

'I guess that's what it ought to be called. Which is another way of expressing the joy of life in that it is alive, the triumph of movement over matter, of the quick over the dead, the pride of the yeast because it is yeast and crawls.'

I threw up my hands with helpless disapproval of his inveterate materialism, and went about making the bed. He continued copying lines and figures upon the transparent scale. It was a task requiring the utmost nicety and precision, and I could not but admire the way he tempered his strength to the fineness and delicacy of the need.

When I had finished the bed, I caught myself looking at him in a fascinated sort of way. He was certainly a handsome man—beautiful in the masculine sense. And again, with never-failing wonder, I remarked the total lack of viciousness, or wickedness, or sinfulness, in his face. It was the face, I am convinced, of a man who did no wrong. And by this I do not wish to be misunderstood. What I mean is that it was the face of a man who either did nothing contrary to the dictates of his conscience, or who had no conscience. I incline to the latter way of accounting for it. He was a magnificent atavism, a man so purely primitive that he was of the type that came into the world before the development of the moral nature. He was not immoral, but merely unmoral.

As I have said, in the masculine sense his was a beautiful face. Smooth-shaven, every line was distinct, and it was cut as clear and sharp as a cameo; while sea and sun had tanned the naturally fair skin to a dark bronze which bespoke struggle and battle, and added to both his savagery and his beauty. The lips were full, yet possessed of the firmness, almost harshness, which is characteristic of thin lips. The set of his mouth, his chin, his jaw, was likewise firm or harsh, with all the fierceness and indomitableness of the male; the nose also. It was the nose of a being born to conquer and command."
==
Chronicles: Volume One, p. 63 (regarding Cisco Houston):
"He didn't need to say much—you knew he had been through a lot, achieved some great deed, praiseworthy and meritorious, yet unspoken about it."

White Fang by Jack London:
"He carried himself with pride, as though, forsooth, he had achieved a deed praiseworthy and meritorious."
==
Chronicles: Volume One, p. 71:
"A folk song has over a thousand faces and you must meet them all if you want to play this stuff."

White Fang by Jack London:
"Life had a thousand faces and White Fang found he must meet them all -- thus when he went to town, in to San Jose, running behind the carriage or loafing about the streets when the carriage stopped."

(A phrase from the sentence that appears before this in White Fang appears on page 252 of Chronicles: Volume One, noted below.)
==
Chronicles: Volume One, p. 92:
"He seemed to have some golden grip on reality, didn't sweat the small stuff, quoted the Psalms and slept with a pistol near his bed."

"The Great Interrogation" by Jack London:
"We were speaking of this man you saw fit to marry. What manner of man was he? Wherein did he charm your soul? What potent virtues were his? True, he had a golden grip,--an almighty golden grip. He knew the odds. He was versed in cent per cent. He had a narrow wit and excellent judgment of the viler parts, whereby he transferred this man's money to his pockets, and that man's money, and the next man's. And the law smiled. In that it did not condemn, our Christian ethics approved. By social measure he was not a bad man. But by your measure, Karen, by mine, by ours of the rose garden, what was he?"
==
Chronicles: Volume One, p. 96:
"When I hear Hank sing, all movement ceases. The slightest whisper seems sacrilege."

"The White Silence" by Jack London:
"Nature has many tricks wherewith she convinces man of his finity--the ceaseless flow of the tides, the fury of the storm, the shock of the earthquake, the long roll of heaven's artillery--but the most tremendous, the most stupefying of all, is the passive phase of the White Silence. All movement ceases, the sky clears, the heavens are as brass; the slightest whisper seems sacrilege, and man becomes timid, affrighted at the sound of his own voice."
==
Chronicles: Volume One, p. 97 (regarding Albert Grossman):
"Usually when he talked, his voice was loud, like the booming of war drums."

"The God of His Fathers" by Jack London:
"From the opposing camp came the booming of war-drums and the voices of the priests stirring the people to anger."
==
Chronicles: Volume One, p. 104:
"The waitress at the lunch counter wore a close-fitting suede blouse. It outlined the well-rounded lines of her body. She had blue-black hair covered with a kerchief and piercing blue eyes, clear stenciled eyebrows."

"The Great Interrogation" by Jack London:
"A close-fitting blouse of moose-skin, fantastically beaded, outlined faithfully the well-rounded lines of her body, while a silken kerchief, gay of color and picturesquely draped, partly covered great masses of blue-black hair. But it was the face, cast belike in copper bronze, which caught and held Mrs. Sayther's fleeting glance. Eyes, piercing and black and large, with a traditionary hint of obliqueness, looked forth from under clear-stencilled, clean-arching brows."
==
Chronicles: Volume One, p. 112:
"The afternoon sun was breaking, throwing a vague radiance to the earth."

"The Great Interrogation" by Jack London:
"Through this the afternoon sun broke feebly, throwing a vague radiance to earth, and unreal shadows."
==
Chronicles: Volume One, p. 112:
"A jackrabbit scampered past the scattered chips by the woodpile."

"The Great Interrogation" by Jack London:
"Pierre pointed to the scattered chips by the woodpile."
==
Chronicles: Volume One, p. 116:
"I really was never any more than what I was — a folk musician who gazed into the gray mist with tear-blinded eyes and made up songs that floated in a luminous haze."

The Sea-Wolf by Jack London:
"And at once, as in an instant's leap, the sun was blotted out, there was no sky, even our mastheads were lost to view, and our horizon was such as tear-blinded eyes may see. The gray mist drove by us like a rain."
==
Chronicles: Volume One, p. 133:
"When he said to the crowd that I preferred isolation from the world, it was like he told them that I preferred being in an iron tomb with my food shoved in on a tray."

White Fang by Jack London:
"He was in an iron tomb, buried alive. He saw no human face, spoke to no human thing. When his food was shoved in to him, he growled like a wild animal."
==
Chronicles: Volume One, p. 166:
"The political world in the song is more of an underworld, not the world where men live, toil and die like men."

"An Odyssey of the North" by Jack London:
"And when he did sleep, his brain worked on, and for the nonce he, too, wandered through the white unknown, struggled with the dogs on endless trails, and saw men live, and toil, and die like men."
==
Chronicles: Volume One, p. 167:
"I cast an embracing glance over the primordial landscape."

"In The Forests of the North" by Jack London:
"'Rum meeting place, though,' he added, casting an embracing glance over the primordial landscape and listening for a moment to the woman's mournful notes."
==
Chronicles: Volume One, p. 169:
"It's like I saw the song up in front of me and overtook it, like I saw all the characters in this song and elected to cast my fortunes with them."

"The Wisdom of the Trail" by Jack London:
"Sitka Charley, from boyhood, had been thrown continually with white men, and as a man he had elected to cast his fortunes with them, expatriating himself, once and for all, from his own people."
==
Chronicles: Volume One, p. 169:
"Yet to me, it's amazingly simple, no complications, everything pans out. As long as the things you see don't go by in a blur of light and shade, you're okay. Love, fear, hate, happiness all in unmistakable terms, a thousand and one subtle ramifications."

"In The Forests of the North" by Jack London:
"And then they are amazingly simple. No complexity about them, no thousand and one subtle ramifications to every single emotion they experience. They love, fear, hate, are angered, or made happy, in common, ordinary, and unmistakable terms."
==
Chronicles: Volume One, p. 173:
"There's a smashing and crashing of furniture and glass. Something just breaks and gives no warning. Sometimes your dearest possessions."

White Fang by Jack London:
"The strange god paused at the foot of the great staircase and listened, and White Fang was as dead, so without movement was he as he watched and waited. Up that staircase the way led to the love-master and to the love-master's dearest possessions. White Fang bristled, but waited. The strange god's foot lifted. He was beginning the ascent.

Then it was that White Fang struck. He gave no warning, with no snarl anticipated his own action. Into the air he lifted his body in the spring that landed him on the strange god's back. White Fang clung with his fore-paws to the man's shoulders, at the same time burying his fangs into the back of the man's neck. He clung on for a moment, long enough to drag the god over backward. Together they crashed to the floor. White Fang leaped clear, and, as the man struggled to rise, was in again with the slashing fangs.

Sierra Vista awoke in alarm. The noise from downstairs was as that of a score of battling fiends. There were revolver shots. A man's voice screamed once in horror and anguish. There was a great snarling and growling, and over all arose a smashing and crashing of furniture and glass."
==
Chronicles: Volume One, p. 189:
"The dichotomy of cutting this lyrically driven song with melodic changes, with a rockin' Cajun band, might be interesting ... but the only way to find out, is to find out. Once we started trying to capture it, the song seemed to get caught in a stranglehold. All the chugging rhythms began imprisoning the lyrics. This style seemed to be oblivious to their existence. Both Dan and I became plainly perplexed."

White Fang by Jack London:
"Having received sundry lessons from Matt, said lessons being imparted by means of a club, the sled-dogs had learned to leave White Fang alone; and even then they were lying down at a distance, apparently oblivious of his existence."

White Fang by Jack London:
"He was plainly perplexed, and he came back again, pausing a dozen feet away and regarding the two men intently."

White Fang by Jack London:
“Matt shrugged his shoulders. 'Got to take a gamble. Only way to find out is to find out.’"
==
Chronicles: Volume One, p. 190:
"We recorded it a lot, varying the tempos and even the keys, but it was like being cast into sudden hell."

"Jan, The Unrepentant" by Jack London:
"But Jan upreared in his Berserker rage; bleeding, frothing, cursing; five frozen years thawing into sudden hell."
==
Chronicles: Volume One, p. 190:
"I was wearing a blue flannel shirt and it was soaked through."

White Fang by Jack London:
"From shoulder to wrist of the crossed arms, the coat-sleeve, blue flannel shirt and undershirt were ripped in rags, while the arms themselves were terribly slashed and streaming blood."

(Other material from this passage shows up on page 216 of Chronicles: Volume One.)
==
Chronicles: Volume One, p. 191:
"Felt like I had turned a corner and was seeing the sight of a god's face."

White Fang by Jack London:
"Thus, in the early morning, instead of roaming and foraging, or lying in a sheltered nook, he would wait for hours on the cheerless cabin-stoop for a sight of the god's face."
==
Chronicles: Volume One, p. 193:
"Even with all the churches and temples and cemeteries, New Orleans doesn't have the psychic current of holy places. That's a cold, frozen fact. It takes you a while to figure that out. In a lot of places you have to change with the times."

"Jan, the Unrepentant" by Jack London:
"He looked yearningly at that portion of Jan's anatomy which joins the head and shoulders. 'Give it up,' he repeated sadly to Lawson. 'Throw the rope down. Gawd never intended this here country for livin' purposes, an' that's a cold frozen fact.'

Jan grinned triumphantly. 'I tank I go mit der tent und haf a smoke.'

'Ostensiblee y'r correct, Bill, me son,' spoke up Lawson; 'but y'r a dummy, and you can lay to that for another cold frozen fact. Takes a sea farmer to learn you landsmen things. Ever hear of a pair of shears? Then clap y'r eyes to this.'"
==
Chronicles: Volume One, p. 193:
"As a vocalist, it was like trying to scale the slippery trunk of a tree.”

"At The Rainbow's End" by Jack London:
"'Oh, Donald, man, will ye no lend a hand?' he sobbed again, his hands bleeding from vain attempts to scale the slippery trunk."
==
Chronicles: Volume One, p. 194:
“It had a certain definite awe about it and eventually, Danny and I saw eye to eye, went back and listened to Dopsie's version and used it.”

"Where the Trail Forks" by Jack London:
"So they stood in a certain definite awe and curiosity as to what his conduct would be when he moved to action."
==
Chronicles: Volume One, p. 210:
"It didn't have mysteries lurking in its vast recesses, mysteries built when and by whom no man could tell."

"In a Far Country" by Jack London:
"The cabin was one of the many mysteries which lurk in the vast recesses of the North. Built when and by whom no man could tell."
==
Chronicles: Volume One, p. 211:
"Danny's sonic atmosphere makes it sound like it's coming out of some mysterious, silent land."

"Gold Hunters of the North" by Jack London::
"But the North still whispered, and more insistently, and he could not rest till he went over Chilcoot, and down into the mysterious Silent Land."
==
Chronicles: Volume One, p. 213:
"The song came to me complete, full in the eyes like I'd been traveling on the garden pathway of the sun and just found it."

"An Odyssey of the North" by Jack London:
"Nor did I find a maiden till one night coming back from the fishing. The sunlight was lying, so, low and full in the eyes, the wind free, and the kayaks racing with the white seas. Of a sudden the kayak of Unga came driving past me, and she looked upon me, so, with her black hair flying like a cloud of night and the spray wet on her cheek. As I say, the sunlight was full in the eyes, and I was a stripling; but somehow it was all clear, and I knew it to be the call of kind to kind. As she whipped ahead she looked back within the space of two strokes, -- looked as only the woman Unga could look, -- and again I knew it as the call of kind. The people shouted as we ripped past the lazy oomiaks and left them far behind. But she was quick at the paddle, and my heart was like the belly of a sail, and I did not gain. The wind freshened, the sea whitened, and, leaping like the seals on the windward breech, we roared down the golden pathway of the sun."
==
Chronicles: Volume One, p. 214:
"It was frigid and burning, yearning - lonely and apart. Many hundreds of miles of pain went into it."

"The Gold Hunters of the North" by Jack London:
"'There are the continents,' he indicated; 'and up there near the polar cap is a country frigid and burning and lonely and apart, called Alaska..."

"In a Far Country" by Jack London:
"...voices destined to string a trail of oaths along many a hundred miles of pain."
==
Chronicles: Volume One, pp. 215 -216:
"It's cut out from the abyss of blackness - visions of a maddened brain, a feeling of unreality - the heavy price of gold upon someone's head."

White Fang by Jack London:
"From below, as from out an abyss of blackness, came up a gurgling sound, as of air bubbling through water."

White Fang by Jack London:
"He was a man and a monstrosity, as fearful a thing of fear as ever gibbered in the visions of a maddened brain."

White Fang by Jack London:
"A heavy price of gold was upon his head."
==
Chronicles: Volume One, p. 216:
"Someone who loved life but cannot live, and it rankles his soul that others should be able to live."

"The Story of Jees Uck" by Jack London:
"He, who loved life, could not live, and it rankled his soul that others should be able to live."
==
Chronicles: Volume One, p. 216:
"In some kind of weird way, I thought of it as my 'I Walk the Line,' a song I'd always considered to be up there at the top, one of the most mysterious and revolutionary of all time, a song that makes an attack on your most vulnerable spots, sharp words from a master."

White Fang by Jack London:
"White Fang was in a rage, wickedly making his attack on the most vulnerable spot. From the shoulder to wrist of the crossed arms, the coat sleeve, blue flannel shirt and undershirt were ripped in rags, while the arms themselves were terribly slashed and streaming blood.

All this the two men saw in an instant. The next instant Weedon Scott had White Fang by the throat and was dragging him clear. White Fang struggled and snarled, but made no attempt to bite, while he quickly quieted down at a sharp word from the master."
==
Chronicles: Volume One, p. 217 (regarding Johnny Cash):
"Johnny didn't have a piercing yell, but ten thousand years of culture fell from him. He could have been a cave dweller. He sounds like he's at the edge of the fire, or in the deep snow, or in a ghostly forest, the coolness of conscious obvious strength, full tilt and vibrant with danger."

"The Son of the Wolf" by Jack London:
"Thling-Tinneh was trying to speak, but his people drowned his voice. Then Mackenzie strode forward. The Fox opened his mouth to a piercing yell, but so savagely did Mackenzie whirl upon him that he shrank back, his larynx all agurgle with suppressed sound. His discomfiture was greeted with roars of laughter, and served to soothe his fellows to a listening mood."

"The Son of the Wolf" by Jack London:
"Time and again he was forced to the edge of the fire or the deep snow, and time and again, with the foot tactics of the pugilist, he worked back to the center. Not a voice was lifted in encouragement, while his antagonist was heartened with applause, suggestions, and warnings. But his teeth only shut the tighter as the knives clashed together, and he thrust or eluded with a coolness born of conscious strength. At first he felt compassion for his enemy; but this fled before the primal instinct of life, which in turn gave way to the lust of slaughter. The ten thousand years of culture fell from him, and he was a cave-dweller, doing battle for his female."

"The Son of the Wolf" by Jack London:
"A few moments later they were swallowed up by the ghostly forest."

"The Son of the Wolf" by Jack London:
"'O my husband!' Zarinska's voice rang out, vibrant with danger."

"The Son of the Wolf" by Jack London:
"The Bear floundered out and came back full tilt."
==
Chronicles: Volume One, p. 210:
"It didn't have mysteries lurking in its vast recesses, mysteries built when and by whom no man could tell."

"In a Far Country" by Jack London:
"The cabin was one of the many mysteries which lurk in the vast recesses of the North. Built when and by whom no man could tell."
==
Chronicles: Volume One, p. 217:
"Wind whipped in the open doorway and another kicking storm was rumbling earthward."

"Siwash" by Jack London:
"Another tremendous section of the glacier rumbled earthward. The wind whipped in at the open doorway, bulging out the sides of the tent till it swayed like a huge bladder at its guy ropes."
==
Chronicles: Volume One, p. 217:
"The light had gone out of the day. In the trees, a solitary bird warbling. We did it as we damn well pleased and there was nothing more to say. When the record was all added up, I hoped it would meet head on with the realities of life. I was going to thank him, but sometimes you can do it without opening your mouth, you can live it. "

"In a Far Country" by Jack London:
"Suddenly, without warning and without fading, the canvas was swept clean. There was no color in the sky. The light had gone out of the day."

"In a Far Country" by Jack London:
"'Then do as you damn well please, we won't have nothing to say.'"

"In a Far Country" by Jack London:
"He must not say 'Thank you;' he must mean it without opening his mouth, and prove it by responding in kind."
==
Chronicles: Volume One, p. 218:
"When we finished recording it felt like the studio could have gone up in a sheet of flame. It was so intense in there for the past couple of months or so. Lanois had created a haunting, not stumbling or halting album. He said he'd help me make a record and he didn't break his word. We went by circuitous ways but we got there."

Call of the Wild by Jack London:
"This ecstasy, this forgetfulness of living, comes to the artist, caught up and out of himself in a sheet of flame; it comes to the soldier, war-mad on a stricken field and refusing quarter; and it came to Buck, leading the pack, sounding the old wolf-cry, straining after the food that was alive and that fled swiftly before him through the moonlight."

White Fang by Jack London:
"But the man who went softly, by circuitous ways, peering with caution, seeking after secrecy -- that was the man who received no suspension of judgment from White Fang, and who went away abruptly, hurriedly, and without dignity."
==
Chronicles: Volume One, p. 220:
"He steered this record with deft turns and jerks, but he did it. He stood in the bell tower, scanning the alleys and rooftops."

"Siwash" by Jack London:
"Dick Humphries threw the bight of the sail twine over the point of the needle and drew it clear with a couple of deft turns and a jerk."
==
Chronicles: Volume One, p. 220:
"My limited vision didn't permit me to see all around the thing."

"Siwash" by Jack London:
"He bore women too large a portion of his rough heart to mind them, as he said, when they were in the doldrums, or when their limited vision would not permit them to see all around a thing."
==
Chronicles: Volume One, p. 251:
"I felt like I'd been cast into sudden hell."

"Jan, The Unrepentant" by Jack London:
"But Jan upreared in his Berserker rage; bleeding, frothing, cursing; five frozen years thawing into sudden hell."
==
Chronicles: Volume One, p. 252 (regarding a Ramblin' Jack Elliot record):
"I had nothing near the compelling poise of self that I heard on the record."

White Fang by Jack London:
"And the chief thing demanded by these intricacies of civilisation was control, restraint - a poise of self that was as delicate as the fluttering of gossamer wings and at the same time as rigid as steel."

(This is the sentence before, "Life had a thousand faces and White Fang found he must meet them all...")
==
Chronicles: Volume One, p. 253:
"The road ahead had always been encumbered with shadowy forms that had to be dealt with in one way or another."

"Thanksgiving on Slav Creek" by Jack London:
"The trail ahead lighted up, and as far as they could see it was cumbered with shadowy forms, all toiling in the one direction."
==
Chronicles: Volume One, p. 253 (regarding Joan Baez):
"A voice that drove out bad spirits."

"The God of His Fathers" by Jack London:
"The sparse aborigines still acknowledged the rule of their chiefs and medicine men, drove out bad spirits, burned their witches, fought their neighbors, and ate their enemies with a relish which spoke well of their bellies."
==
Chronicles: Volume One, p. 255 (regarding Joan Baez):
"Both Scot and Mex, she looked like a religious icon, like somebody you'd sacrifice yourself for and she sang in a voice straight to God . . . also was an exceptionally good instrumentalist"

"The God of His Fathers" by Jack London:
"But when I was come to that place, the priest stood in my way, and spoke soft words, and said a man in anger should go neither to the right nor left, but straight to God."
==
Chronicles: Volume One, p. 255:
"Cleopatra living in an Italian palace."

"The Priestly Prerogative" by Jack London:
"We'll buy an Italian palace, and you can play Cleopatra to your heart's content."
==
Chronicles: Volume One, pp. 257 - 258:
"However true that might have been, I, too, had the axe in my hands and needed to tear out of there, head off to where life promised something more - felt that my own voice and guitar would be equal to the situation."

"To The Man on Trail" by Jack London:
"More than one rough adventurer of the North felt his heartstrings draw closer, and experienced vague yearnings for the sunnier pastures of the Southland, where life promised something more than a barren struggle with cold and death."