If you strike at, imprison, or kill us, out of our prisons or graves we will still evoke a spirit that will thwart you, and perhaps, raise a force that will destroy you! We defy you! Do your worst!
I am certain that nothing has done so much to destroy the juridical safeguards of individual freedom as the striving after this mirage of social justice.
There are only two places in the world where time takes precedence over the job to be done. School and prison.
When the Nazis came for the communists, I remained silent; I was not a communist. When they locked up the social democrats, I remained silent; I was not a social democrat. When they came for the trade unionists, I did not speak out; I was not a trade unionist. When they came for me, there was no one left to speak out.
We shall not yield to violence. We shall not be deprived of union freedoms. We shall never agree with sending people to prison for their convictions.
To seek the redress of grievances by going to law, is like sheep running for shelter to a bramble bush.
The penalty for laughing in a courtroom is six months in jail; if it were not for this penalty, the jury would never hear the evidence.
Those magistrates who can prevent crime, and do not, in effect encourage it.
When is conduct a crime, and when is a crime not a crime? When Somebody Up There -- a monarch, a dictator, a Pope, a legislator -- so decrees.
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.
By noiselessly going to a prison a civil-resister ensures a calm atmosphere.
The mellow sweetness of pumpkin pie off a prison spoon is something you will never forget.
Written laws are like spiders' webs, and will, like them, only entangle and hold the poor and weak, while the rich and powerful will easily break through them.
Prisons don't rehabilitate, they don't punish, they don't protect, so what the hell do they do?
Nor cell, nor chain, nor dungeon speaks to the murderer like the voice of solitude.
I never saw a man who looked With such a wistful eye Upon that little tent of blue Which prisoners call the sky.