They were not half living, or quarter living. They were simply so many bags of bones in which sparks of life fluttered faintly.

The hand descended. Nearer and nearer it came. It touched the ends of his upstanding hair. He shrank down under it. It followed down after him, pressing more closely against him. Shrinking, almost shivering. He still managed to hold himself together. It was a torment, this hand that touched him and violated his instinct. He could not forget in a day all the evil that had been wrought him at the hands of men.

A man with a club is a law-maker.

The Wild still lingered in him and the wolf in him merely slept.

The human race is doomed to sink back farther and farther into the primitive night ere again it begins its bloody climb upward to civilization.

Limited minds can recognize limitations only in others.

He was a silent fury who no torment could tame.