Without Dignity, Identity Is Erased.

He Had No Money And No Home; He Lived Entirely On The Road Of The Racing Circuit, Sleeping In Empty Stalls, Carrying With Him Only A Saddle, His Rosary, And His Books...the Books Were The Closest Thing He Had To Furniture, And He Lived In Them The Way Other Men Live In Easy Chairs.

Without Dignity, Identity Is Erased. In Its Absence, Men Are Defined Not By Themselves, But By Their Captors And The Circumstances In Which They Are Forced To Live.

I Had Been Writing Professionally Since 1988

His Books Were The Closest Thing He Had To Furniture And He Lived In Them The Way Other Men Live In Easy Chairs.

I've Used A Cellphone Exactly Twice. Things Move On. The World Changes. And I Don't Know It