The degree of civilization in a society can be judged by entering its prisons.
The uneven impact of actual enforcement measures tends to mirror and reinforce more general patterns of discrimination (along socioeconomic, racial and ethnic, sexual, and perhaps generational lines) within the society. As a consequence, such enforcement (ineffective as it may be in producing conformity) almost certainly reinforces feelings of alienation already prevalent within major segments of the population.
The idea that the sole aim of punishment is to prevent crime is obviously grounded upon the theory that crime can be prevented, which is almost as dubious as the notion that poverty can be prevented.
I don't like being famous - it is like a prison. And driving for Ferrari would make it far worse.
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.
The mellow sweetness of pumpkin pie off a prison spoon is something you will never forget.
Probably the only place where a man can feel really secure is in a maximum security prison, except for the imminent threat of release.
Everyone is a prisoner of his own experiences. No one can eliminate prejudices - just recognize them.
Justice is that virtue of the soul which is distributive according to desert.
Overlook our deeds, since you know that crime was absent from our inclination.
Prison makes you a better judge of character. You pick up on people much faster.
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.
Forgiveness, that noblest of all self-denial, is a virtue which he alone who can practise in himself can willingly believe in another.
To be in prison so long, it's difficult to remember exactly what you did to get there.
I never saw a man who looked With such a wistful eye Upon that little tent of blue Which prisoners call the sky.
A just chastisement may benefit a man, though it seldom does; but an unjust one changes all his blood to gall.
The thoughts of a prisoner - they're not free either. They keep returning to the same things.