The worst of prison life, he thought, was not being able to close his door.
There are few better measures of the concern a society has for its individual members and its own well being than the way it handles criminals.
Adversities such as being homeless and going to prison has made many people stronger.
Whatever you think of de Sade, he was a complex figure and we should not look for easy answers with him. He was, strangely perhaps, against the death penalty, and he was never put in prison for murders or anything like that.
We have our own system, ... and journalists in our system are not put in prison for embarrassing the government by revealing things the government might not wish to have revealed. The important thing is that our system, under which journalists can write without fear or favor, should continue.
The common argument that crime is caused by poverty is a kind of slander on the poor.
The object of punishment is prevention from evil; it never can be made impulsive to good.
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.
Nor cell, nor chain, nor dungeon speaks to the murderer like the voice of solitude.
Money will determine whether the accused goes to prison or walks out of the courtroom a free man.
He had drawn many a thousand of these rations in prisons and camps, and though he'd never had an opportunity to weight them on scales, and although, being a man of timid nature, he knew no way of standing up for his rights, he, like every other prisoner, had discovered long ago that honest weight was never to be found in the bread-cutting. There was short weight in every ration. The only point was how short. So every day you took a look to soothe your soul - today, maybe, they haven't snitched any.
I have paid no poll-tax for six years. I was put into a jail once on this account, for one night; and, as I stood considering the walls of solid stone, I could not help being struck with the foolishness of that institution which treated me as if I were mere flesh and blood and bones, to be locked up...I saw that, if there was a wall of stone between me and my townsmen, there was a still more difficult one to climb or break through, before they could get to be as free as I was. I did not for a moment feel confined, and the walls seemed a great waste of stone and mortar.
Faults of the head are punished in this world, those of the heart in another; but as most of our vices are compound, so also is their punishment.
Once we are destined to live out our lives in the prison of our mind, our duty is to furnish it well.