Free people don't know the value of freedom, that's the problem.

My father's spine was a knotted rope, the kind that women use in villages to pull water from wells; the clavicle curved around his neck in high relief, like a dog's collar; cuts and nicks and scars, like little whip marks in his flesh, ran down his chest and waist, reaching down below his hip ones into his buttocks. The story of a poor man's life is written on his body, in a sharp pen (p46)

"Fear and danger aren't always directly proportional. We're all terrified of rattlesnakes, but the spider we brush off our sleeves with hardly a thought is far more likely to hurt us." ~ Natchez Burning by Greg Iles