Robert E. Howard

He laughed, and his laughter was like the purr of a sword sliding from a silken sheath.

Ga‑nor was no fool. He knew that a man carries a girl into the forest for no good purpose.

Her father, and Shah Amurath, they were civilized men. And from them she had had only suffering.

Fear? Your pardon, Messieurs, but the meaning of fear you do not know.

She was untamed as a desert wind, supple and dangerous as a she-panther.

The true werewolf is not (as many think) a man who may take the form of a wolf, but a wolf who takes the form of a man!

In this world men struggle and suffer vainly, finding pleasure only in the bright madness of battle; dying, their souls enter a gray misty realm of clouds and icy winds, to wander cheerlessly throughout eternity.

“A Pict never forgets a foe, ever remembers a friendly deed,” he replied.

Over the city and the land the ages flowed as waves flow over a beach, and each wave brought alterations.

“Men shall die for this,” he said coldly.

Does a man take a band of warriors with him, when going to a rendezvous with a woman he desires?

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.

I’ll burn Khawarizm for a torch to light your way to my tent.

“The army is like a sword,” said Kull, “and must not be allowed to rust.”

I doubt if there is anything that devil fears.

“Wine is red and women are soft,” he remarked tolerantly. “But⁠—ha! ha!⁠—think not old Ka-nu allows either to interfere with business.”

Sorcery thrives on success, not on failure.

Valusia⁠—land of dreams and nightmares⁠—a kingdom of the shadows, ruled by phantoms who glided back and forth behind the painted curtains, mocking the futile king who sat upon the throne⁠—himself a shadow.

Conan stared at that expanse of empty waste shimmering tawnily in the late sunlight as a trapped hawk stares at the open sky.

A flower in a serpent den she was, and the beauty of her took hold of my heart.