Women now have choices. They can be married, not married, have a job, not have a job, be married with children, unmarried with children. Men have the same choice we've always had: work, or prison.
The common argument that crime is caused by poverty is a kind of slander on the poor.
Taught from infancy that beauty is woman's sceptre, the mind shapes itself to the body, and roaming round its gilt cage, only seeks to adorn its prison.
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.
Intellectual despair results in neither weakness nor dreams, but in violence. It is only a matter of knowing how to give vent to one's rage; whether one only wants to wander like madmen around prisons, or whether one wants to overturn them.
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.
Mere factual innocence is no reason not to carry out a death sentence properly reached.
Fast closed with double grills And triple gates–the cell To wicked souls is hell; But to a mind that's innocent 'Tis only iron, wood and stone.
Probably the only place where a man can feel really secure is in a maximum security prison, except for the imminent threat of release.
To seek the redress of grievances by going to law, is like sheep running for shelter to a bramble bush.
We don't seem to be able to check crime, so why not legalize it and then tax it out of business.
The mellow sweetness of pumpkin pie off a prison spoon is something you will never forget.
If punishment reaches not the mind and makes not the will supple, it hardens the offender.
There are only two places in the world where time takes precedence over the job to be done. School and prison.
It was only when I lay there on the rotting prison straw that I sensed within myself the first stirrings of good. Gradually it was disclosed to me that the line separating good and evil passes not between states nor between social classes nor between political parties, but right through every human heart, through all human hearts. And that is why I turn back to the years of my imprisonment and say, sometimes to the astonishment of those about me, bless you, prison, for having been a part of my life.