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The Word Is Too Weak. There Is No Word In The Language Strong Enough To Describe My Feelings.
-Jack London
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The Word Is Too Weak. There Is
Jack London
The Word Is Too Weak. There Is No Word In The Language Strong Enough To Describe My Feelings.
Views: 17
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Strong
Feelings
Language
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As One Grows Weaker One Is Less Susceptible To Suffering. There Is Less Hurt Because There Is Less To Hurt.
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There Are, Broadly Speaking, Two Types Of Drinkers. There Is The Man Whom We All Know, Stupid, Unimaginative, Whose Brain Is Bitten Numbly By Numb Maggots; Who Walks Generously With Wide-spread, Tentative Legs, Falls Frequently In The Gutter, And Who Sees, In The Extremity Of His Ecstasy, Blue Mice And Pink Elephants.... The Other Type Of Drinker Has Imagination, Vision. Even When Most Pleasantly Jingled He Walks Straight And Naturally, Never Staggers Nor Falls, And Knows Just Where He Is And What He Is Doing. It Is Not His Body But His Brain That Is Drunken.
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When, On The Still Cold Nights, He Pointed His Nose At A Star And Howled Long And Wolf-like, 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 Was The Meaning Of The Stillness, And The Cold, And Dark.
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He Was A Killer, A Thing That Preyed, Living On The Things That Lived, Unaided, Alone, By Virtue Of His Own Strength And Prowess, Surviving Triumphantly In A Hostile Environment Where Only The Strong Survive.
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