The Most Beautiful Stories Always Start With

He Had Learned Well The Law Of Club And Fang, And He Never Forewent An Advantage Or Drew Back From A Foe He Had Started On The Way To Death. He Had Lessoned From Spitz, And From The Chief Fighting Dogs Of The Police And Mail, And Knew There Was No Middle Course. He Must Master Or Be Mastered; While To Show Mercy Was A Weakness. Mercy Did Not Exist In The Primordial Life. It Was Misunderstood For Fear, And Such Misunderstandings Made For Death. Kill Or Be Killed, Eat Or Be Eaten, Was The Law; And This Mandate, Down Out Of The Depths Of Time, He Obeyed.

Do You Know The Only Value Life Has Is What Life Puts Upon Itself? And It Is Of Course Overestimated, For It Is Of Necessity Prejudiced In Its Own Favour. Take That Man I Had Aloft. He Held On As If He Were A Precious Thing, A Treasure Beyond Diamonds Of Rubies. To You? No. To Me? Not At All. To Himself? Yes. But I Do Not Accept His Estimate. He Sadly Overrates Himself. There Is Plenty More Life Demanding To Be Born. Had He Fallen And Dripped His Brains Upon The Deck Like Honey From The Comb, There Would Have Been No Loss To The World. The Supply Is Too Large.

White Fang Knew The Law Well: To Oppress The Weak And Obey The Strong.

Stupid Women, And All Are Stupid, Think The First Winning Of The Man The Final Victory. Then They Settle Down And Grow Fat, And Stale, And Dead, And Heartbroken. Alas, They Are So Stupid. But You, Little Infant-woman With Your First Victory, You Must Make Your Love-life An Unending Chain Of Victories. Each Day You Must Win Your Man Again. And When You Have Won The Last Victory, When You Can Find No More To Win, Then Ends Love. Finis Is Written, And Your Man Wanders In Strange Gardens.

The Great Task Demanded Of Man Is Reproduction. He Is Urged By Passion To Perform This Task. Passion, Working Through The Imagination, Produces Love. Passion Is The Impelling Factor, Imagination The Disturbing Factor; And The Disturbance Of Passion By Imagination Produces Love.