Prison is no fairy-tale world.
We sat and drank with the sun on our shoulders and felt like free men. We could have been tarring the roof of one of our own houses. We were the lords of all creation.
They have only three ways to spend the taxpayers’money for prison: more walls, more bars, more guards.
A letter a week,they can’t ignore me forever.
He’s just institutionalized.
But I tell you these walls are funny, first you hate them, then you get used to them, enough time passes, you get so depend on them. That’s “institutionalized”.
I saw an automobile once when I was a kid, but now they’re everywhere.
I have trouble sleeping at night, I have bad dreams like I’m falling, I wake up scared, sometimes it takes me a while to remember where I am.
It only took six years. From now on, I’ll write two letters a week instead of one.
I like to think it was something so beautiful it can’t be expressed in words and makes your heart ache because of it. I tell you, those voices soared higher and farther than anbody in a gray place dares to dream. It was like a beautiful bird flapped into our drab cage and made those walls dissolve away.
In prison, a man will do most anything to keep his mind occupied.
Bad luck, I think. It floats around, it’s got to land on somebody. It was my turn, that’s all.
I guess it comes down to a simple choice. Get busy living, or get busy dying.
I had thought it’d take a man 600 years to tunnel through the wall with it. Old Andy did it in less than 20.
I have to remind myself that some birds aren’t meant to be caged, their feathers are just too bright, and when they fly away, the part of you that knows it was a sin to lock them up does rejoice.
Forty years I’ve been asking permission to piss, I can’t squeeze a drop without say-so.
Hope is a good thing, maybe the best of things, and no good thing ever dies.
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