Words are like people, I think. Put too many of them too close together and they cause trouble.

Did you know that seventy-five to eighty percent of juvenile offenders can’t read at grade level?”
“Really?” This was news to me.
“Your world becomes a much smaller place if you can’t read. You have far fewer options. It’s not the only factor, but it’s a big one. If they want to know how big to build a prison,
all they have to do is look at the illiteracy statistics.”
“They knew I was coming.”
“You or someone like you.”
“You knew it too, all those years ago, back in Quincy. That’s why you tried to help me. Because you knew I was coming here.”
“Here or someplace like here.

Where we goin’?” Wade whispers to me as we approach the white picket fence that surrounds the row of wooden crosses.
For all I know my grandmother could be planning to shoot us and bury us with the rest of the family, but I don’t think it would help to share this notion with Wade

I got words in me, Jess, fighting to find a way out. Sometimes there's so many words and they get so crowded in my skull I think my head is gonna explode. I want to write them down. I've tried, but most of the time my thoughts and my feelings are bigger than what I can get on paper.

Those who have witnessed executions say there is no sound worse than the weeping of mother watching her son being put to death.

They're wrong. There is one sound that is worse.

There is silence.

A substantiated proof that the world has a vast majority of people only fools is that the history shows that a genius born in every generation has been regularly treated bad to make him sad & always considered mad by the public; so a thought-provoking question is how could a person who often gets the support of good number of the people be ever good truly to others.