In the heat of the Russian summer a sleeping car is the most horrible instrument of martyrdom imaginable.

When I grew up there wasn't air-conditioning or anything of that nature, and this old car had a wall thickness of about ten inches. So we had a little warmer house in the winter and a little cooler in the summer.

It sounds like something from a Woody Guthrie song, but it's true I was raised in a freight car.

There were times when I thought I would never own a car.

The image is where you have dinner at night, who you're seeing. It's what car you drive and how you dress. People in the industry sell that, and it creates a dream. There's nothing else.