Various

“ Music is the language of all things—intelligent or not, savage or educated civilian. This Piper knows his music as a god knows his heaven. For twenty years he has composed his hymn of action and hate and finally, tonight perhaps, the finale will be reached. At first, many years ago, when he played, he received no answer from the subterrane, but the murmur of gibbering voices. Five years ago he lured the voices and the creatures from their caves to the mountain tops. ”

“ The Piper continued playing, paying no heed to it. From the darkness, across the star-jewelled horizon, came mysterious shapes, creeping, creeping.
"Mars is a dying world," the old man said. "Nothing ever happens of much gravity. The Piper, I believe, is an exile."
The stars trembled like reflections in water, dancing with the music. ”

“ They are unintelligent creatures now, cruel beasts."
"Does Earth own Mars?" The little boy's eyes were riveted upon the glowing planet overhead, the green planet.
"Yes, all of Mars. Earth has three cities here, each containing one thousand people. The closest city is a mile from here, down the road, a group of small metal bubble-like buildings. The men from Earth move about among the buildings like ants enclosed in their space suits. They are miners. With their huge machines they rip open the bowels of our planet and dig out our precious life-blood from the mineral arteries." ”

“ I feel something is going to happen very soon. The Piper's song is growing more insistent every night. At first, twenty years ago, he played on only a few nights of every year, but now, for the last three years he has played until dawn every night of every autumn when the planet is dying."
"Bring the savages?" the boy sat up. "What savages?"
"There!"
Along the star-glimmered mountain tops a vast clustering herd of black, murmuring, advancing. The music screamed higher and higher. ”

“ The Earthlings outlawed him, sent him here to Mars to live out his days."
"Mars is a dying world," repeated the boy. "A dying world. How many Martians are there, sir?"
The old man chuckled. "I guess maybe you are the last pure Martian alive, boy. But there are millions of others."
"Where do they live? I have never seen them."
"You are young. You have much to see, much to learn."
"Where do they live?"
"Out there, beyond the mountains, beyond the dead sea bottoms, over the horizon and to the north, in the caves, far back in the subterrane." ”

“ They cannot own planets as they have and expect nothing but greedy luxury for their sluggishly squat bodies. Someday——!" His voice rose high, in tempo and pitch with the Piper's wild music.
Wild music, insane music, stirring music. Music to stir the savage into life. Music to effect man's destiny! ”

“ I have, as usual, been brooding over the intricacies of modern civilization. It seems to me that life is a peculiarly futile business. This mood of mine may, perhaps, be attributed to my recent tragic encounter with a horse at the corner of 42nd and Broadway. ”

“ The surgeon made no effort to avoid the blow, but took it, with no change of expression.
"YOU ARE WILLING TO GO THROUGH WITH IT, SAMUEL?" The younger man looked at Doctor Lans without fear as he answered,
"Certainly, Doctor."
"I can not guarantee that you will recover. The Leader's pituitary gland is diseased; when I exchange it for your healthy one your younger one may not be able to stand up under it—that is the chance you take. Besides—a complete transplanting has never been done before."
"I know it—but I'm out of the concentration camp!" ”

“ One never knows the result of the most innocent action, and that, by imperceptible degrees, brings me to the subject of this article, PLAYING FAIR WITH FANS, or, FANTASTIC DECENCY.
It has been said (and very loudly, too) that fans fight a lot. Well, I do not care to refute that; I happen to know that a Californian fan, a Mr. Ackerman, is in the habit of knocking down visitors and kicking them in strategic places. The question naturally arises, does fantasy lead to sadism? ”

“ As she realized the terror of her position, black horror flooded the girl. SHE HAD BECOME ALLERGIC TO WEATHER!
Well, after that, of course, matters got steadily worse. She was driven from home, after blasting the bathtub and spoiling a valuable Angora kitten. (It was later made into a muff, but moths got into it. That, however, is another story, and not an especially good one.)
Poor Scarlett was excluded from all fan gatherings. Sun stroke and eclipse were her constant companions. She came with the deluge and was gone with the wind. ”