A Bone To The Dog Is Not

On The Sled, In The Box, Lay A Third Man Whose Toil Was Over, - A Man Whom The Wild Had Conquered And Beaten Down Until He Would Never Move Nor Struggle Again. It Is Not The Way Of The Wild To Like Movement. Life Is An Offense To It, For Life Is Movement; And The Wild Aims Always To Destroy Movement.

The Most Beautiful Stories Always Start With Wreckage.

The Loneliness Of The Man Is Slowly Being Borne In Upon Me. There Is Not A Man Aboard But Hates Or Fears Him, Nor Is There A Man Whom He Does Not Despise.

And How Have I Lived? Frankly And Openly, Though Crudely. I Have Not Been Afraid Of Life. I Have Not Shrunk From It. I Have Taken It For What It Was At Its Own Valuation. And I Have Not Been Ashamed Of It. Just As It Was, It Was Mine.

Mercy Did Not Exist In The Primordial Life. It Was Misunderstood For Fear, And Such Misunderstandings Made For Death.