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Had I not, in the pens, as it had seemed to me in my dreams, if dreams they were, often pleaded for so little as a thread of silk? What was I? What had I become? Something within me seemed to know. - (Witness of Gor, Chapter 8, Sentence #191)

And suddenly, it tending to shock me, in my confusion, the thought rose up irresistibly within me that I should, more properly, not be distressed by the rag I wore, but rather I should rejoice that I had been granted this gift, the indulgence, the lenience, of even so minuscule a scrap of clothing! It served to give me at least a little cover. Was I entitled to any? No, I had not the least right to such, or to anything. Surely I should be heartfeltedly grateful for even so little! Surely it need not have been granted me. Had I not, in the pens, as it had seemed to me in my dreams, if dreams they were, often pleaded for so little as a thread of silk? What was I? What had I become? Something within me seemed to know. The drug had now worn off. But it had induced a sense of confusion, an uncertainty as to what had occurred and what had not occurred, what had been dream and what had not been dream. Had I dreamed the house, the pens, the chains, the wagon, the strange passage through cold, windy skies? Was I dreaming now? Was I delirious? Was I mad? Muchly had I been disoriented by the substance to which I had been subjected. - (Witness of Gor)