Fear urged him to go back$$$ but growth drove him on.

White Fang knew the law well: to oppress the weak and obey the strong.

Writers are the exorcists of their own demons.

He was a man without a past$$$ whose future was the imminent grave and whose present was a bitter fever of living.

If you have men who will only come if they know there is a good road$$$ I don't want them. I want men who will come if there is no road at all.

Nothing you have not given away will ever really be yours.

I haven't reached nirvana yet$$$ but I've been to Detroit.

I can't allow what we learned in English composition to disrupt the sound and rhythm of the narrative.

Every feeling is the perception of a truth.

Anything that you resent and strongly react to in another is also in you.