Today is the anniversary of Jack London's death. Here is the opening
passage of The Sea Wolf, a first-class read:

"I scarcely know where to begin, though I sometimes facetiously place
the cause of it all to Charley Furuseth's credit. He kept a summer
cottage in Mill Valley, under the shadow of Mount Tamalpais, and never
occupied it except when he loafed through the winter mouths and read
Nietzsche and Schopenhauer to rest his brain. When summer came on, he
elected to sweat out a hot and dusty existence in the city and to toil
incessantly. Had it not been my custom to run up to see him every Satur
day afternoon and to stop over till Monday morning, this particular
January Monday morning would not have found me afloat on San Francisco Bay."




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