“Charles Darwin, who had witnessed theatrocities perpetrated against Argentina’s nativeIndians by Juan Manuel de Rosas, had predictedthat “the country will be in the hands of whiteGaucho savages instead of copper-coloured Indians.The former being a little superior in education,as they are inferior in every moral virtue.”

“you will die with your fist clenched and jaws tense, in perfect demonstration of hate and combat, beacuse you are not a symbol, you are an authentic member of a society which is crumbling: the spirit of the beehive speaks through your mouth and moves in your actions; you are as useful as I am, but you don't know how useful your contribution is to the society that sacrifices you”

“I had a feeling that I shouldn't be here listening to this sinful man who had mixed children and didn't care who knew it, but he was fascinating. I had never encountered a being who deliberately perpetrated fraud against himself. But why had he entrusted us with his deepest secret? I asked him why. 'Because you're children and you can unterstand it,' he said.”

“The secret of poetry is cruelty.”

“If there is a worm in the heart, & chamber it has bitten out,I will protect that emptiness until it is large enough.In it will be a light the color of steel & landscape, into which the traveler might set out.”

“Force the bit between the mouth of freedom didn't we learn to flyRemember to sail the skiesDistant sunsWill we reachWinds allowOther skylinesOther skylines to hold you ”

“McCandless read and reread The Call of the Wild, White Fang, “To Build a Fire,” “An Odyssey of the North,” “The Wit of Porportuk.” He was so enthralled by these tales, however, that he seemed to forget they were works of fiction, constructions of the imagination that had more to do with London’s romantic sensibilities than with the actualities of life in the subarctic wilderness. McCandless conveniently overlooked the fact that London himself had spent just a single winter in the North and that he’d died by his own hand on his California estate at the age of forty, a fatuous drunk, obese and pathetic, maintaining a sedentary existence that bore scant resemblance to the ideals he espoused in print.”