Assassination is the extreme form of censorship.
A man who has no excuse for a crime, is indeed defenseless!
Extreme justice is extreme injustice.
Two men look out the same prison bars; one sees mud and the other stars.
The contagion of crime is like that of the plague. Criminals collected together corrupt each other; they are worse than ever when at the termination of their punishment they re-enter society.
Laws do not persuade just because they threaten.
Probably the only place where a man can feel really secure is in a maximum security prison, except for the imminent threat of release.
When I was in prison, I was wrapped up in all those deep books. That Tolstoy crap - people shouldn't read that stuff.
Fear can be like a prison. It is, however, a self made prison. Many are imprisoned by fear. No one else can liberate them from this prison. Others may inspire them but they must liberate themselves.
To my mind, to kill in war is not a whit better than to commit ordinary murder.
Since 1957, black people have experienced double-digit unemployment - in good times and bad times. Look at the population of African Americans in prison. They represent more than half the population of prisoners in the country, 55 percent of those on death row.
There is no peace because the making of peace is at least as costly as the making of war - at least as exigent, at least as disruptive, at least as liable to bring disgrace and prison and death in its wake.
While we have prisons it matters little which of us occupy the cells.
Wicked deeds are generally done, even with impunity, for the mere desire of occupation.
Society has used the juvenile courts to create a caste system where there are throw-away people.
~James Bell
A pedestal is as much a prison as any small, confined space.
Crimes generally punish themselves.
Well, I don't think prisons are the answer to everything, obviously.
The thoughts of a prisoner - they're not free either. They keep returning to the same things.
Show me the prison, Show me the jail, Show me the prisoner whose life has gone stale. And I'll show you a young man with so many reasons why And there, but for fortune, go you or I.
When I was in prison, I was wrapped up in all those deep books. That Tolstoy crap - people shouldn't read that stuff.
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.
In jail a man has no personality. He is a minor disposal problem and a few entries on reports. Nobody cares who loves or hates him, what he looks like, what he did with his life. Nobody reacts to him unless he gives trouble. Nobody abuses him. All that is asked of him is that he go quietly to the right cell and remain quiet when he gets there. There is nothing to fight against, nothing to be mad at. The jailers are quiet men without animosity or sadism.
