She had put despair and fear aside, as if they were garments she did not choose to wear.

And any man who must say 'I am king' is no true king at all.

Fantasy is silver and scarlet, indigo and azure, obsidian veined with gold and lapis lazuli.

Only the soldier pines and sentinels still showed green; the broadleaf trees had donned mantles of russet and gold, or else uncloaked themselves to scratch against the sky with branches brown and bare.

It was a story called ‘The Hero’ which I sold to Galaxy magazine in 1970, for $94.

I am doing the right thing, he told himself, so why do I feel so bad?

Power resides where men believe it to reside.