I Am Unable To Rouse Much Interest

For Man's Only Weapon Is Courage That Flinches Not From The Gates Of Hell Itself, And Against Such Not Even The Legions Of Hell Can Stand.

Man Can Be That Which He Wishes To Be; Form And Substance, They Are But Shadows. The Mind, The Ego, The Essence Of The God-dream -- That Is Real, That Is Immortal.

Some Mechanism In My Sub-consciousness Took The Dominant Characteristics Of Various Prize-fighters, Gunmen, Bootleggers, Oil Field Bullies, Gamblers, And Honest Workmen I Had Come In Contact With, And Combining Them All, Produced The Amalgamation I Call Conan The Cimmerian.

It Is An Ill Thing To Meet A Man You Thought Dead In The Woodland At Dusk.

Rome Got Some Peachy Pastings When She Tried To Lick The Irish.