Oh who is that young sinner with the handcuffs on his wrist? And what has he been after that they groan and shake their fists? And wherefore is he wearing such a conscience-stricken air? Oh they're taking him to prison for the colour of his hair.
The object of punishment is prevention from evil; it never can be made impulsive to good.
Corporal punishment falls far more heavily than most weighty pecuniary penalty.
Why would anyone expect him to come out smarter? He went to prison for three years, not Princeton.
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.
We don't seem to be able to check crime, so why not legalize it and then tax it out of business.
Crimes lead one into another; they who are capable of being forgers are capable of being incendiaries.
I just remember that disturbing feeling of walking into that prison, the complete loss of privacy, the complete loss of stimulation, dignity.
The idea that the sole aim of punishment is to prevent crime is obviously grounded upon the theory that crime can be prevented, which is almost as dubious as the notion that poverty can be prevented.
Wicked deeds are generally done, even with impunity, for the mere desire of occupation.
History is full of people who went to prison or were burned at the stake for proclaiming their ideas. Society has always defended itself.
I can tell you this on a stack of Bibles: prisons are archaic, brutal, unregenerative, overcrowded hell holes where the inmates are treated like animals with absolutely not one humane thought given to what they are going to do once they are released. You're an animal in a cage and you're treated like one.
Probably the only place where a man can feel really secure is in a maximum security prison, except for the imminent threat of release.
Prison continues, on those who are entrusted to it, a work begun elsewhere, which the whole of society pursues on each individual through innumerable mechanisms of discipline.
Nor stony tower, nor walls of beaten brass, Nor airless dungeon, nor strong links of iron, Can be retentive to the strength of spirit; But life, being weary of these worldly bars, Never lacks power to dismiss itself.
I don't like being famous - it is like a prison. And driving for Ferrari would make it far worse.
A just chastisement may benefit a man, though it seldom does; but an unjust one changes all his blood to gall.