I feel that if I ever did adjust to prison, I could by that alone never adjust to society.

This world is nothing. An illusion. Death is the release.

Because there is something helpless and weak and innocent - something like an infant - deep inside us all that really suffers in ways we would never permit an insect to suffer.

I feel that if I ever did adjust to prison, I could by that alone never adjust to society.

When they talk of ghosts of the dead who wander in the night with things still undone in life, they approximate my subjective experience of this life.

My eyes, my brain seek out escape routes wherever I am sent.

One morning I woke up and was plunged into psychological shock. I had forgotten I was free.