As a lower-class kid, I was raised to think success would be owning stuff. Having that great job, too. Now I find my parents' dream was wrong. You never really own anything. And you're never really finished as a person.

You could stab a knife right through my heart and you'd be too late.

People didn't know who I was or why I was there, so they started inventing stories about me. I was a registered sex offender and I'd just been released from prison and was being forced to do community-service work. I was a murderer, an arsonist - all these horrific things had been projected on me because no one knew what to make of this white guy who showed up and made toast at 5 o'clock every morning.

Somehow it seems wrong to photograph a blind person. It’s like stealing something valuable they don’t even know they own.

Am I sleeping? Have I slept at all? This is insomnia.

If the living are haunted by the dead, then the dead are haunted by their own mistakes.

Sticks and stones may break your bones but words can hurt like hell.