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From The Master of Adventure ~ Part II
Magnificent - A Strange Tale
I have seen the
most beautiful woman in the world -- and the cruelest; and I even had the
temerity to believe that I could bring her away with me, too; for I loved
her. I still love her, though I curse her in my sleep, so nearly
one are love and hate, the two most powerful and devasting emotions that
control man, nations, life -- so nearly one that they are separated by
only a glance, a gesture, a syllable. I hate her with my mind; I
love her with my body and my soul.
Bear with me if I
anticipate. For me she is the beginning and the end -- the beginning
and the end of everything; but I'll try to be more coherent and more chronological.
Love is a gift
of the gods. Sometimes it is awarded as a recompense; sometimes as
a punishment. For me it has been a punishment, perhaps, but I would
not have it otherwise. I had nurtured it in my breast since first
I met you; and without that love, however hopeless it may be, I should
not care to live.
the Ant Men, Chapter VIII
Man alone of all
the creations of God is universally hated and feared and
not only by the lower
orders but by his own kind, for of them all man alone joys in the death
of others -- the great coward who, of all creation, fears death the most.
Magnificent "Out of the Past"
Not far to the
south, at the edge of the dry plain, another man swings easily toward the
north. No sign of fatigue or exhaustion here. The bronze skin
glows with health, full muscles glide beneath it. The free gait,
the noiseless tread might be those of Sheeta, the panther; but there is
no slinking here. It is the carriage of one who knows neither doubt
nor fear, of a lord in his own domain.
He is encumbered by
but a single garment, a loin-cloth of doe-skin. A coil of grass rope
is looped over one shoulder, behind the other hangs a quiver of arrows;
a scabbarded knife swings at his hip; a bow and short spear complete his
equipment. A shock of black hair falls in disorder above serene,
gray eyes, eyes that can reflect the light of a summer sea or the
flashing steel of a rapier.
of Jimber-Jaw, Chapter 5
Of what good is
a mate in your country? They are no different from men. The men smoke;
the women smoke. The men drink; the woman drink. The men swear;
the women swear. They gamble -- they tell dirty stories -- they are
out all night and cannot be fit to look after the caves and the children
next day. They are only good for one thing, otherwise they might
as well be men. One does not need to take a mate for what they can
give -- not there.
of Tarzan, Chapter XXII
Opar, the enchanted
city of a dead and forgotten past. The city of the beauties and the
beasts. City of horrors and death; but -- city of fabulous riches.
Lover, Chapter 1, Part 1
She loves Nu now
better than her very life, but if love is to walk at her side during a
long life pride and respect must walk with it.
the Forbidden City [?]
The cruel, terrible,
thousand-eyed thing that is a crowd.
The Son of
Tarzan (Chapter XIV)
The jungle is
my father and my mother. It has been kinder to me than have me.
I am not afraid of the jungle. Nor am I afraid of the leopard or
the lion. When my time comes I shall die. It may be that a
leopard or a lion shall killme, or it may be a tiny bug no bigger than
the end of my littlest finger. When the lion leaps upon me, or the
little bug stings me I shall be afraid -- oh, then I shall be terribly
afraid, I know; but life would be very miserable indeed were I to spend
it in terror of the thing that has not yet happened. If it be the
lion my terror shall be short of life; but if it be the little bug I may
suffer for days before I die. And so I fear the lion least of all.
He is great and noisy. I can hear him, or see him, or smell him in
time to escape;
but any moment I may
place a hand or foot on the little bug, and never know he is there until
I feel his deadly sting. No, I do not fear the jungle. I love
it. I should rather die than leave it forever...
Lover, Part II, Back to the Stone Age
...the more one
listens to ordinary conversations the more apparent it becomes that the
reasoning faculities of the brain take little part in the direction of
the vocal organs.
the Jewels of Opar. The Altar of the Flaming God
The voice seemed
partly human, yet so hideous that it might well have emanated from the
tortured through of a lost soul, writhing in the fires of Hell.
Rice Burroughs still lives
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