“I am tired of seeing people battered and bruised and bloody, injured and jumped on, along the Jericho Roads of life.”

“Each of us, in the journey through mortality, will travel his own Jericho Road. What will be your experience? What will be mine? Will I fail to notice him who has fallen among thieves and requires my help? Will you? Will I be one who sees the injured and hears his plea, yet crosses to the other side? Will you? Or will I be one who sees, who hears, who pauses, and who helps? Will you?”

“...you are battered and bruised in the collisions between reminiscence and reality.”

“You took life by the horns and tried to hold on tight, for fear of being ripped to shreds, left bloodied and battered.”

“...the dearer a book was to my heart, the more battered and bruised it became.”

“I was on the verge of jumping into one of those holes in life out of which we emerge a bit tattered and bloody, though we remain sure nonetheless that we had to make the jump.”