Sophie clutched Grant tighter. 'I don’t know what screwed-up messages from your family are floating around in your head right now, but you’re staying right here.

Sometimes I feel like a normal person. Sometimes I forget I’m on parole, that I’m not really free.

His voice as smooth as silk, Grant started into his standard crowd-pleaser: Sinatra’s 'My Kind of Town.

I’m glad I went to prison, " Grant rasped in Sophie’s ear, so quietly only she could hear. "Because then I found you.

If he's getting married, he's not longer interesting.

Today I write, riots with insite!Tomorrow I read, take the lead!Sometimes I sleep, health to keep!But for now I write, and got no gripe!

Death can never kill an idea. Ideas are more powerful than death. Ideas outlive men and can never be destroyed.

My own belief is that people can come back from anything. It doesn't mean that it won't come at a huge cost.

How many times already had I encountered the painful lesson that although we may wish for the barb to be pulled from our flesh, it leaves a welt that doesn't heal?

I still got the nasty in me.

The artist and his work are not to be separated. The most willfully foolish man cannot stand aloof from his folly, but the deed and the doer together make ever one sober fact.

I grew up extremely fast. I was racing at the age of five. I was racing on a semi-national level by the time I was 16. It makes you grow up fast.

Once torched by truth...a little thing like faith is easy.

I love man as my fellow; but his scepter, real, or usurped, extends not to me, unless the reason of an individual demands my homage; and even then the submission is to reason, and not to man.