I know not whether laws be right, or whether laws be wrong; All that we know who lie in gaol is that the wall is strong; And that each day is like a year, a year whose days are long.
Organized crime in America takes in over forty billion dollars a year. This is quite a profitable sum, especially when one considers that the Mafia spends very little for office supplies.
Probably the only place where a man can feel really secure is in a maximum security prison, except for the imminent threat of release.
It isn't true that convicts live like animals: animals have more room to move around.
We who live in prison, and in whose lives there is no event but sorrow, have to measure time by throbs of pain, and the record of bitter moments.
No obligation to justice does force a man to be cruel, or to use the sharpest sentence.
I just remember that disturbing feeling of walking into that prison, the complete loss of privacy, the complete loss of stimulation, dignity.
Women have worked hard; starved in prison; given of their time and lives that we might sit in the House of Commons and take part in the legislating of this country.
Crimes lead one into another; they who are capable of being forgers are capable of being incendiaries.
Intellectual despair results in neither weakness nor dreams, but in violence. It is only a matter of knowing how to give vent to one's rage; whether one only wants to wander like madmen around prisons, or whether one wants to overturn them.
Justice is justice though it's always delayed and finally done only by mistake.
Adversities such as being homeless and going to prison has made many people stronger.
The refined punishments of the spiritual mode are usually much more indecent and dangerous than a good smack.
The mellow sweetness of pumpkin pie off a prison spoon is something you will never forget.
There is no greater punishment of wickedness that that it is dissatisfied with itself and its deeds.
Nor cell, nor chain, nor dungeon speaks to the murderer like the voice of solitude.
The torment of human frustration, whatever its immediate cause, is the knowledge that the self is in prison, its vital force and 'mangled mind' leaking away in lonely, wasteful self-conflict.
What restrains us from killing is partly fear of punishment, partly moral scruple, and partly what may be described as a sense of humor.
Money will determine whether the accused goes to prison or walks out of the courtroom a free man.