I'd Rather Sing One Wild

Life, In A Sense, Is Living And Surviving. And All That Makes For Living And Surviving Is Good. He Who Follows The Fact Cannot Go Astray, While He Who Has No Reverence For The Fact Wanders Afar.

But Nobody Else Ever Romped With White Fang. He Did Not Permit It. He Stood On His Dignity, And When They Attempted It, His Warning Snarl And Bristling Mane Were Anything But Playful. That He Allowed The Master These Liberties Was No Reason That He Should Be A Common Dog, Loving Here And Loving There, Everybody's Property For A Romp And Good Time. He Loved With Single Heart And Refused To Cheapen Himself Or His Love.

No; I Did Not Hate Him. The Word Is Too Weak. There Is No Word In The Language Strong Enough To Describe My Feelings. I Can Say Only That I Knew The Gnawing Of A Desire For Vengeance On Him That Was A Pain In Itself And That Exceeded All The Bounds Of Language.

I Write For No Other Purpose Than To Add To The Beauty That Now Belongs To Me.

He Was A Silent Fury Who No Torment Could Tame.