Quotessence
Home / Quotes / Quote by Jack London

Quote by Jack London

“We took up a collection and sent a telegram to the authorities of that town. The text of the message was that eighty-five healthy, hungry hoboes would arrive about noon and that it would be a good idea to have dinner ready for them.”

Quote by Jack London

Work

The Road

Cormac McCarthy's 'The Road' is a profound and moving narrative that explores themes of survival, love, and hope in a world decimated by an unspecified disaster. The story follows a father and his young son as they journey through a desolate landscape, seeking safety and warmth amidst the remnants of a civilization. The narrative is spare and poetic, offering a poignant look at the resilience of the human spirit in the face of unimaginable adversity. more

Author

Jack London
Jack London

Jack London was an American author known for his adventure novels and realistic works. His writings often depicted the lives of the underclass and his profound insights into the natural world. His notable works include 'The Call of the Wild' and 'White Fang'. more

You May Also Like

“Look at your “hobophobia.” If there is one group of people our majority population fear and despise it is rootless, nomadic individuals with no stake in society. They offend simply by “opting out”—of property, commitments, beliefs, relationships, expectations. Many such people have turned their backs on a society they don’t understand or can’t cope with. They have absconded from the pressures to compete, to perform, to sell out, to join in the dance of bureaucracy, money worries, cohabitation, housekeeping, procreation, you-name-it. Society is right to fear such people because they embody the sane rejection of many insanely onerous “civilized” values that would collapse under scrutiny. Strangely, though, society also makes an idol of Jesus, apparently a nomad who had no possessions or family ties, who walked away from a promising career in carpentry, a hobo if ever there was one. (We haven’t, however, made a popular hero out of Diogenes, the ultimate dirty Greek hobo.)”

“En route to California I had a few drinks with an American executive for Falstaff Brewing Company who said he'd been a hobo from '37 to '39. He talked about a friend of his who had lost his legs beneath a freight train and died. He told me he knew something about farm labor contractors. "Killers," he called them. And said it again, "Killers.”

“Nastavio sam da njuškam letnji suton. Nema adrenalina bez benzina. Točkovi su strugali, frikcija se pojačavala. Zavirivao sam u senovite prolaze tržnih centara: profesionalni lažnjaci se uvaljuju profesionalnim amaterima. Dauntaun je pomirljivo tonuo u daun. Prizor liči na razglednicu unutrašnjosti. Glavna vena Nišvila je definitivno predozirana bednjikavim gruvom. Ovaj grad je elementarna nepogoda. Sve je manje fliperana i klubova sa džuboks aparatima. Sve je manje poslastičara u kojima služe bozu i kadif. Sve je manje knjižara u kojima se prodaju knjige. Sve je manje dobrih stripova i porno časopisa na buvljacima. Sve je manje bioskopa koji ne zvrje prazni i gde dronjavo platno ne liči na paravan u seoskim ambulantama. Nema patine u Nišvilu, osim one švercovane - za brzu prodaju i brzu upotrebu. Jebi ga, ponekad mi nedostaje moji grad.Sve je više neona na pogrešnim mestima, i sve je više pogrešnih mesta, i sve je više ljudi koji umiru od želje da se zabave i ispričaju nekome kako je zabavno bilo. "Niko ovde nije poludeo od zabave", rekla je Kinki kada je kupila nove uredjaje za koje nije bilo dovoljno da ih uključiš u struju pa da prorade. Morao si da povezuješ komponente, tumačeći nacrtana uputstva da bi se, napokon, pojavila slika i zvuk - jasniji i čistiji od prethodnih slika i zvukova.”

Book:Hobo

“You're supposed to be a spirit of intellect. I don't understand why you're obsessed with sex." Bob's voice got defensive. "It's an academic interest, Harry." "Oh yeah? Well maybe I don't think it's fair to let your academia go peeping in other people's houses." "Wait a minute. My academia doesn't just peep -" I held up a hand. "Save it. I don't want to hear it." He grunted. "You're trivializing what getting out for a bit means to me, Harry. You're insulting my masculinity." "Bob," I said, "you're a skull . You don't have any masculinity to insult." "Oh yeah?" Bob challenged me. "Pot kettle black, Harry! Have you gotten a date yet? Huh? Most men have something better to do in the middle of the night than play with their chemistry sets.”

“He also said that I would never get an apology out of you.” There was a long pause. “I want one. Now.” Xcor put aside his soup and found himself searching the wounds he had given himself, recalling all that pain, all that blood—which had dried brown on the floorboards beneath him. “And then what,” he said in a rough voice. “You’ll have to find out.” Fair enough, Xcor thought. Without grace—not that he had any, anyway—he rose to his feet. At his full height, he was unsteady for too many reasons to count, and the off-balance feeling got even worse as he met the eyes of his… friend. Looking Throe in the face, he stepped up and put out his palm. “I am sorry.” Three simple words spoken loud and clear. And they didn’t go nearly far enough. “I was wrong to treat you as I did. I am… not as much of the Bloodletter as I thought—as I have e’er wanted to be.”

“It’s boring.” “Oh,” I said. I rubbed at my jaw. “You think I should have gone four-color?” Bob stared at me for a second and said, “I have nightmares about Hell, where all I do is add up numbers and try to have conversations with people like you.” I glowered up at the skull and nodded. “Okay, fine. You think it needs more drama.” “More anything. Drama would do. Or breasts.” I sighed and saw where that line of thought was going. “I am not going to hire a leggy secretary, Bob. Get over it.” “I didn’t say anything about legs. But as long as we’re on the subject . . .”