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Surely I had heard it somewhere, but when, and where? Then I, kneeling before him, in nadu, uneasy beneath his scowl, aware of his whip, was suddenly no longer sure I had heard it before. - (Quarry of Gor, Chapter 35, Sentence #186)

"No, Master," I said. I sensed that his hostility had nothing to do with me personally. I was sure of the voice. Surely I had heard it somewhere, but when, and where? Then I, kneeling before him, in nadu, uneasy beneath his scowl, aware of his whip, was suddenly no longer sure I had heard it before. How could I truly know? Might I not be mistaken? Perhaps what I had heard was merely a similar voice? Might I then have conflated the two? It is easy to invent fictions which masquerade as memories, often plausibly, even vividly. Memory itself, with its gaps, substitutions, and distortions, is often unreliable. How painful can be its comings and goings, its games, tricks, and jests! And how can one distinguish between an authentic memory and a seeming memory? Falsity would not be falsity did it not hide under the claim of truth. - (Quarry of Gor)