In prisons, those things withheld from and denied to the prisoner become precisely what he wants most of all.
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.
The perfection of a thing consists in its essence; there are perfect criminals, as there are men of perfect probity.
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.