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I now knew the sort of thing I was, and in my worthless heart it so sickened me that I did not much care now whether I lived or died. - (Raiders of Gor, Chapter 4, Sentence #79)

I had had an image of myself, a proud image, and the loss of this image had crushed me. I had lived a lie with myself and then, in my own eyes, and in those of others, I had been found out. I had chosen ignominious bondage to the freedom of honorable death. I now knew the sort of thing I was, and in my worthless heart it so sickened me that I did not much care now whether I lived or died. I did not even much care that I might spend the rest of my life as an abject slave, abused on a rence island, the sport of a girl or children, the butt of the cruelty and jests of men. Such, doubtless, was deserved. How could I face free men again, when in my own heart I could not even face myself? It was hot, and the coils of marsh vine about my throat were hot. - (Raiders of Gor)