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It was difficult being a conscientious objector in the 1940's, but I felt I had to stick to my guns.

My father was always so mingled with rage at his life.

My father was this big, tough guy, almost heroic in proportion to me as a child. It was only later that I saw how fearful he was.

When I was younger, I was a bit of a feisty fighter type of guy. That's something my father told me as I was becoming a man: 'You don't go picking fights, but you don't run from any of them.' And I was more afraid of my father than anybody else I had to fight.

My father was very intense, passionate and over-the-top. He was my hero and my tyrant.

My father was a mean, controlling and manipulative person for most of his life. He was unpredictable and unstable. As a result, the atmosphere of our home was super-charged with fear because you never knew if what you did would make him mad or not.

I never saw a gun until I was 24. I didn't grow up in Mayberry; I grew up in Southern California.

My father was often angry when I was most like him.

I hate those men who would send into war youth to fight and die for them; the pride and cowardice of those old men, making their wars that boys must die.