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"You spoke once of machines," I said. - (Priest-Kings of Gor, Chapter 35, Sentence #122)

"Once you spoke to me," I said, "of random elements". I looked up at the moons. "Is that—" I asked, "—seeing that the moons are beautiful—is that a random element in man?" "I think," said Misk, "it is part of man". "You spoke once of machines," I said. "Howsoever I spoke," said Misk, "words cannot diminish men or Priest-Kings—for who cares what we are—if we can act, decide, sense beauty, seek right, and have hopes for our people?" I swallowed hard, for I knew I had hopes for my race, and I sensed how Misk must have them for his, only his race was dying, and would sooner or later, one by one, meet with an accident or succumb to the Pleasures of the Golden Beetle. And my race—it would live on Gor—at least for the time, because of what Misk and Priest-Kings had done to preserve their world for them. "Your affairs," I told him, but speaking to myself, "are your affairs—and not mine". - (Priest-Kings of Gor)