One of the problems that the marijuana reform movement consistently faces is that everyone wants to talk about what marijuana does, but no one ever wants to look at what marijuana prohibition does. Marijuana never kicks down your door in the middle of the night. Marijuana never locks up sick and dying people, does not suppress medical research, does not peek in bedroom windows. Even if one takes every reefer madness allegation of the prohibitionists at face value, marijuana prohibition has done far more harm to far more people than marijuana ever could.
To my mind, to kill in war is not a whit better than to commit ordinary murder.
I don't like being famous - it is like a prison. And driving for Ferrari would make it far worse.
It is hard, but it is excellent, to find the right knowledge of when correction is necessary and when grace doth most avail.
Prison, dungeons, blessed places where evil is impossible because they are the crossroads of all the evil in the world. One cannot commit evil in hell.
Whatever is worthy to be loved for anything is worthy of preservation. A wise and dispassionate legislator, if any such should ever arise among men, will not condemn to death him who has done or is likely to do more service than injury to society. Blocks and gibbets are the nearest objects with legislators, and their business is never with hopes or with virtues.
Nor cell, nor chain, nor dungeon speaks to the murderer like the voice of solitude.
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 is safer that a bad man should not be accused, than that he should be acquitted.
In a civilized society, all crimes are likely to be sins, but most sins are not and ought not to be treated as crimes.
The reformative effect of punishment is a belief that dies hard, chiefly I think, because it is so satisfying to our sadistic impulses.
I am an expert of electricity. My father occupied the chair of applied electricity at the state prison.
The thoughts of a prisoner - they're not free either. They keep returning to the same things.
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.