I could write stories just as rotten.

Am I alive and a reality, or am I but a dream?

I write to escape ... to escape poverty.

Yes, I was a fool, but I was in love, and though I was suffering the greatest misery I had ever known I would not have had it otherwise for all the riches of Barsoom. Such is love, and such are lovers wherever love is known.

Anger and hate against one we love steels our hearts, but contempt or pity leaves us silent and ashamed.

For myself, I always assume that a lion is ferocious, and so I am never caught off my guard.

Were there no desire there would be no virtue, and because one man desires what another does not, who shall say whether the child of his desire be Vice or Virtue?