I have been studying how I may compare this prison where I live unto the world; Shut up in the prison of their own consciences.
It isn't true that convicts live like animals: animals have more room to move around.
The world itself is but a large prison, out of which some are daily led to execution.
Three hundred years ago a prisoner condemned to the Tower of London carved on the wall of his cell this sentiment to keep up his spirits during his long imprisonment: “It is not adversity that kills, but the impatience with which we bear adversity.”
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.
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.
Probably the only place where a man can feel really secure is in a maximum security prison, except for the imminent threat of release.
Whatever you think of de Sade, he was a complex figure and we should not look for easy answers with him. He was, strangely perhaps, against the death penalty, and he was never put in prison for murders or anything like that.
They're not supposed to show prison films in prison. Especially ones that are about escaping.
You utter a vow, or forge a signature, and you may find yourself bound for life to a monastery, a woman, or prison.
History is full of people who went to prison or were burned at the stake for proclaiming their ideas. Society has always defended itself.
We who live in prison, and in whose lives there is no event but sorrow, have to measure time by throbs of pain, and the record of bitter moments.
When I was in prison, I was wrapped up in all those deep books. That Tolstoy crap - people shouldn't read that stuff.