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Jack London - The Star Rover

Jack London - The Star Rover

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Published by: Michaela Barbuščáková on Oct 12, 2011
Copyright:Attribution Non-commercial


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The Star Rover
London, Jack
About London:
 Jack London (January 12, 1876 – November 22, 1916), was an Americanauthor who wrote The Call of the Wild and other books. A pioneer in thethen-burgeoning world of commercial magazine fiction, he was one of the first Americans to make a huge financial success from writing.Source: Wikipedia
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All my life I have had an awareness of other times and places. I have been aware of other persons in me.—Oh, and trust me, so have you, myreader that is to be. Read back into your childhood, and this sense of awareness I speak of will be remembered as an experience of your child-hood. You were then not fixed, not crystallized. You were plastic, a soulin flux, a consciousness and an identity in the process of forming—ay, of forming and forgetting.You have forgotten much, my reader, and yet, as you read these lines,you remember dimly the hazy vistas of other times and places intowhich your child eyes peered. They seem dreams to you to-day. Yet, if they were dreams, dreamed then, whence the substance of them? Ourdreams are grotesquely compounded of the things we know. The stuff of our sheerest dreams is the stuff of our experience. As a child, a wee child,you dreamed you fell great heights; you dreamed you flew through theair as things of the air fly; you were vexed by crawling spiders andmany-legged creatures of the slime; you heard other voices, saw otherfaces nightmarishly familiar, and gazed upon sunrises and sunsets otherthan you know now, looking back, you ever looked upon.Very well. These child glimpses are of other-worldness, of other- life-ness, of things that you had never seen in this particular world of yourparticular life. Then whence? Other lives? Other worlds? Perhaps, whenyou have read all that I shall write, you will have received answers to theperplexities I have propounded to you, and that you yourself, ere youcame to read me, propounded to yourself.Wordsworth knew. He was neither seer nor prophet, but just ordinaryman like you or any man. What he knew, you know, any man knows.But he most aptly stated it in his passage that begins "Not in utter naked-ness, not in entire forgetfulness… "Ah, truly, shades of the prison-house close about us, the new-bornthings, and all too soon do we forget. And yet, when we were new- bornwe did remember other times and places. We, helpless infants in arms orcreeping quadruped-like on the floor, dreamed our dreams of air-flight.

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