Wicked deeds are generally done, even with impunity, for the mere desire of occupation.
The public have more interest in the punishment of an injury than he who receives it.
Crimes lead one into another; they who are capable of being forgers are capable of being incendiaries.
Here the great art lies, to discern in what the law is to be to restraint and punishment, and in what things persuasion only is to work.
One of the many lessons that one learns in prison is, that things are what they are and will be what they will be.
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.
Oh who is that young sinner with the handcuffs on his wrist? And what has he been after that they groan and shake their fists? And wherefore is he wearing such a conscience-stricken air? Oh they're taking him to prison for the colour of his hair.
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.
Justice is that virtue of the soul which is distributive according to desert.
On average, drug prisoners spend more time in federal prison than rapists, who often get out on early release because of the overcrowding in prison caused by the Drug War.
Whatever is worthy to be loved for anything is worthy of preservation. A wise and dispassionate legislator, if any such should ever arise among men, will not condemn to death him who has done or is likely to do more service than injury to society. Blocks and gibbets are the nearest objects with legislators, and their business is never with hopes or with virtues.
No matter how you seem to fatten on a crime, that can never be good for the bee which is bad for the hive.
The worst prison is not of stone. It is of a throbbing heart, outraged by an infamous life.
Once we are destined to live out our lives in the prison of our mind, our duty is to furnish it well.
I never saw a man who looked With such a wistful eye Upon that little tent of blue Which prisoners call the sky.