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Prison Quotes

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Prison Quotes

“Don't promote yourself as a country of constitutionality and compassion if you honestly believe that putting people in prison and treating them like animals is justified. Stop all the hype that we live in a free and democratic society. I used to ramble on about the same stuff. But now—are we really a country that believes in fairness and compassion? Are we really a country that treats people fairly? I've met good men—yes, good men—in prison who made mistakes out of stupidity or ignorance, greed, or just bad judgment, but they did not need to be sent to prison to be punished; eighteen months for catching too many fish; two years for inflating income on a mortgage application; three months for selling a whale's tooth on eBay; fifteen years for a first-time nonviolent drug conspiracy in which no drugs were found or seized. There are thousands of people like these in our prisons today, costing American taxpayers billions of dollars when these individuals could be punished in smarter, alternative ways. Our courts are overpunishing decent people who make mistakes, and our prisons have no rewards or incentives for good behavior. In this alone criminal justice and prison systems contradict their own mission statements (244).”

PrisonJailCorrectionsPrison Reform
Author:Bernard B. Kerik
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“This may sound naive, but I didn't fully imagine that little girls grow up in this country with stories like yours. And that, I am sure, you are not the only one. That little girls grow up in tents and start smoking cigarettes by age eight. So seamlessly have we (those in power) written over stories and lives like yours that, to someone like me, it is very easy not to hear about lives like yours. Not to know or imagine they exist. Not to know that public policy is failing you. Not to know that the prison system is an impoverished and wholly inadequate response to your experience and that it, too, is failing you. Which means it's failing all of us.”

Social JusticePrisonHuman RightsMass IncarcerationCriminal Justice ReformPrison Reform
Book:I Have Waited for You: Letters from Prison
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“I trust you won’t make a run for it as long as I’m here.” Emil laughed. “Is that what they told you when they assigned you as my handler? That I’m docile and friendly? That I’m cooperative and pleasant to be around? That if I wanted you dead, you’d already be dead? That’s a little too much faith put in government employees, if you ask me.”

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Book:The Glass Cloister
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“A la fin, tout sera bien récapitulé; et si ça ne l'est pas, je «m'en fiche aussi»; même sans ça, la vie m'est une telle source de joie tous les matins j'inspecte scrupuleusement les bourgeons de tous mes arbustes et vérifie où ils en sont; chaque jour je rends visite à une coccinelle rouge avec deux petits points noirs sur le dos que je maintiens en vie depuis une semaine sur une branche, dans un pansement de chaude ouate malgré la bise et la froidure; j'observe les nuages, toujours plus beaux et sans cesse différents, et au total je ne me considère pas plus importante que cette petite coccinelle et, imbue du sentiment de mon infime petitesse, je me sens ineffablement heureuse.”

PrisonRosa LuxemburgFleursLettresNuagesCoccinelle
Book:Commencer à vivre humainement
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“How many times have such meetings been held throughout American history? How many times have men. be they private prison executives or convict lessees, gotten together to perform this ritual? They sit in company headquarters or legislative offices, far from their prisons or labor camps, and craft stories that soothe their consciences. They convince themselves, with remarkable ease, that they are in the business of punishment because it makes the world better, not because it makes them rich.”

PrisonCorporate GreedPrisons In America
Book:American Prison: A Reporter's Undercover Journey into the Business of Punishment
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“Language as a Prison The Philippines did have a written language before the Spanish colonists arrived, contrary to what many of those colonists subsequently claimed. However, it was a language that some theorists believe was mainly used as a mnemonic device for epic poems. There was simply no need for a European-style written language in a decentralized land of small seaside fishing villages that were largely self-sufficient. One theory regarding language is that it is primarily a useful tool born out of a need for control. In this theory written language was needed once top-down administration of small towns and villages came into being. Once there were bosses there arose a need for written language. The rise of the great metropolises of Ur and Babylon made a common written language an absolute necessity—but it was only a tool for the administrators. Administrators and rulers needed to keep records and know names— who had rented which plot of land, how many crops did they sell, how many fish did they catch, how many children do they have, how many water buffalo? More important, how much then do they owe me? In this account of the rise of written language, naming and accounting seem to be language's primary "civilizing" function. Language and number are also handy for keeping track of the movement of heavenly bodies, crop yields, and flood cycles. Naturally, a version of local oral languages was eventually translated into symbols as well, and nonadministrative words, the words of epic oral poets, sort of went along for the ride, according to this version. What's amazing to me is that if we accept this idea, then what may have begun as an instrument of social and economic control has now been internalized by us as a mark of being civilized. As if being controlled were, by inference, seen as a good thing, and to proudly wear the badge of this agent of control—to be able to read and write—makes us better, superior, more advanced. We have turned an object of our own oppression into something we now think of as virtuous. Perfect! We accept written language as something so essential to how we live and get along in the world that we feel and recognize its presence as an exclusively positive thing, a sign of enlightenment. We've come to love the chains that bind us, that control us, for we believe that they are us (161-2).”

LanguagePrisonAccountingPhilosophy Of LanguageHistory Of Language
Book:Bicycle Diaries
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“En réalité, je traverse actuellement une passe assez dure. C'est exactement comme l'an dernier, à la Barnimstrasse : pendant sept mois je tiens bon, et le huitième mes nerfs flanchent tout à coup. Chaque jour à passer devient un petit sommet qu'il me faut gravir; la moindre bagatelle m'irrite douloureusement. En effet, dans cinq jours il y aura huit mois pleins de ma deuxième année de solitude. Ensuite, sûrement, comme l'an dernier, la vie reprendra ses droits, d'autant plus qu'on s'approche du printemps. Du reste, tout serait bien plus facile à supporter, si je n'oubliais pas la loi fondamentale que je me suis fixée comme règle de vie: être bon, voilà le principal! Etre bon tout simplement. Voilà qui englobe tout et qui vaut mieux que toute l'intelligence et la prétention d'avoir raison. 5 mars 1917, prison de Wronke À Hans Diefenbach”

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Book:Commencer à vivre humainement
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“At the fence, the driver punches something into his phone and halfheartedly salutes the soldiers. Just as he is about to get back into the van, he bends down as if he has dropped something and scoops up a handful of earth to examine like a gardener. He looks up, sees the soldiers watching him and chucks it into the hedge, laughing out loud, then dusts his hands down on his khaki trousers, climbs in, and starts the engine.”

PrisonMurder MysteryHomesteadBack To The LandDefunct FarmFarm Family
Book:The Well
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“Thirteen years have past since 1993, and I still have not seen one single book, documentary or anything to the biggest epidemic in Scottish, British prison history. I would go as far and say, no other prison in the world had fourteen men catching the HIV virus at the same time.”

PrisonAidsStephen RichardsStephen Richards AuthorJimmy HollandScotland CrimeScottish Penal SystemScottish CrimeHard BastardsStreet Crime ScotlandHiv Virus
Book:Scottish Hard Bastards
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“This was my first time in Govan. You could smell and taste the thick smog in the air. The Blue Triangle was a new high-tech building, and it didn’t look right standing there in front of older and more historical buildings. The Blue Triangle may have looked great from the outside, but once inside, to my horror, it was full of young teenage boys and girls full of deep and dark depression”

PrisonAuthorStephen RichardsJimmy HollandScottish Penal SystemGovan
Book:Lost in Care: The True Story of a Forgotten Child
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“Once the cons were in the cell, they’d pull razors or homemade daggers out and rob the YOs of their trainers, leather jackets or jewellery. You couldn’t placate them; it would be akin to expecting not to be bitten from a Rhodesian Ridgeback whilst petting it! Bar L was full of rough, colourful and out-of-control junkies who wouldn’t think twice about stabbing you or slashing you just to get what you had on your feet to pay for their next hit of smack.”

PrisonJimmy HollandScottish Penal SystemBar L
Book:Lost in Care: The True Story of a Forgotten Child
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“[Solitary confinement] is terrible. That is terrible. You're in a grave. You can't do anything. Everything's brought to you and you're in a room all day, except to come out of the showers. So when I would come out, I would entertain myself by singing, doing little mock concerts. And then when I was in the room, I would develop a routine. Like I have a lot of hair under here, so I would take my hair down and take all day to braid it on purpose. Stretch the hours out. Then I might write. And I would clean the floor. And I would look out the window. And then I'd devote a whole day to just reading. I was Christian then, trying to be. So I would read the whole Bible. I would break it down into sections. You're in a grave and you're trying to live. That's how to best describe it: trying to live in a grave. You're trying to live 'cause you're not dead yet, but nobody hears you when you call out, 'Hey, I'm alive!”

PrisonSanitySegregationSolitary ConfinementStaying SaneIncarcerated WomenWomen In Prison
Book:The Story Within Us: Women Prisoners Reflect on Reading
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“Retaliation retards your excellence. Nelson Mandela would not have been named as a great man if not for his courage to forgive those who schemed and plotted it for him to spend those 10000 bitter days in prison.”

PrisonExcellenceFood For ThoughtAverageIsraelmore AyivorBitterExcellentMediocrityBestMediocreForgiveRetaliationExcelRetardSpendNelson MandelaMandelaMadiba10000Retaliate10000 Days10000 Days In PrisonRetardation
Book:The Great Hand Book of Quotes
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“It's time to get healed. It's time to confess. Falling for the bait doesn't make you the worst person in the world. You were snared. You were hooked. But you don't have to stay that way. Now is the time to deal with the shackles that keep you enslaved. Today you can leave the prison that sexual immorality has created from your past mistakes. Hear your Father's voice call out to you above the noisy clamor of our culture. He says, "I love you. You're free to go now. Sexual sin has no hold on you.”

WorldWayTodayPastTimeVoiceWorstPrisonMistakesYouPersonHealedNowHookedTheLeaveToBaitFallingMakeShacklesIsHearThatStayInHaveForYourCanButWithKeepDon TCreatedGetDealFromWereHasConfessIt SDoesn TEnslavedSexual ImmoralitySnaredFather S
Book:Weird: Because Normal Isn't Working
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“I met Ana doing free weights,” Roger said. “This hard-body señorita was putting me to shame on squats, and I asked her how she got such a tight ass —” “And then she decked you.” “Nah, she loved it! She’s real proud of that butt — she should be. She took me to one of her classes, and I got hooked. She’s a Zumba instructor.” Grant absorbed that information for a moment. “You do...Zumba?” “It’s great! Much more fun than PT. You just get going...” He did a little two-step maneuver on the city street, dancing to an unknown Latin beat. “Cha cha cha. Heeuh? Ana does this a little better than me...” Grant tried to hold it in. He really did. But his body quivered, his shoulders shook, and soon a whooping laugh erupted — which lasted quite a few seconds. Roger abruptly stopped his dance. “You judge, Madsen. Not cool.”

RomancePrisonDanceChicagoRomantic SuspenseFamily DramaZumbaGrant MadsenThe Conduct SeriesRoger EatonArchitectural Tour
Book:On Best Behavior
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“There were no doors. No lights. No sounds. Not even a trickle of water. But I could feel them. I could feel them sleeping, pacing, running hands and claws over the other side of the wall. They were ancient, and cruel in a way I had never known, not even with Amarantha. They were infinite, and patient, and had learned the language of darkness, of stone.”

DarknessPrisonAncientSarah J MaasFeyreA Court Of Mist And FuryFeelCruelPrisoners
Book:A Court of Mist and Fury
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“I am one in a row of specimens. It's when I try to flutter out of line that he hates me. I'm meant to be dead, pinned, always the same, always beautiful. He knows that part of my beauty is being alive, but it's the dead me he wants. He wants me living-but-dead. I felt it terribly strongly today. That my being alive and changing and having a separate mind and having moods and all that was becoming a nuisance. He is solid; immovabile, iron-willed. He showed me one day what he called his killing-bottle. I'm imprisoned in it. Fluttering against the glass. Because I can see through it I still think I can escape. I have hope. But it's all an illusion. A thick round wall of glass.”

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Book:The Collector
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“Am intrat în închisoare orb, cu vagi străfulgerări autogene ale beznei, care despică întunericul fără a-l risipi, şi ies cu ochii deschişi. Am intrat răsfăţat, răzgâiat. Ies vindecat de fasoane, nazuri, ifose. Am intrat nemulţumit. Ies cunoscând fericirea. Am intrat nervos, supărăcios, sensibil la fleacuri. Ies nepăsător. Soarele şi viaţa îmi spuneau puţin. Acum ştiu să gust felioara de pâine cât de mică. Ies admirând mai presus de orice curajul, demnitatea, onoarea, eroismul. Ies împăcat. Cu cei cărora le-am greşit, cu prietenii şi duşmanii mei, ba şi cu mine însumi".”

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Book:Jurnalul fericirii
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“I have spent my whole life preparing to be William Wallace’s wife. The choices I make are defined by the person I am. “I am Mrs. William Victor Wallace. I am married to a federal felon whom I love unconditionally. I hold my head high, I take pride in my life and I walk this world without regret. I will be the perfect wife and my husband deserves nothing less.”

MarriageWifeHusbandForgivenessPrisonFugitiveFelonUnconditonal Love
Book:The Fugitive's Doctor
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“Soon after this incident the court rose. As I was being taken from the courthouse to the prison van, I was conscious for a few brief moments of the once familiar feel of a summer evening out-of-doors. And, sitting in the darkness of my moving cell, I recognized, echoing in my tired brain, all the characteristic sounds of a town I'd loved, and of a certain hour of the day which I had always particularly enjoyed. The shouts of newspaper boys in the already languid air, the last calls of birds in the public garden, the cries of sandwich vendors, the screech of streetcars at the steep corners of the upper town, and that faint rustling overhead as darkness sifted down upon the harbor—all these sounds made my return to prison like a blind man's journey along a route whose every inch he knows by heart. Yes, this was the evening hour when—how long ago it seemed!—I always felt so well content with life. Then, what awaited me was a night of easy, dreamless sleep. This was the same hour, but with a difference; I was returning to a cell, and what awaited me was a night haunted by forebodings of the coming day. And so I learned that familiar paths traced in the dusk of summer evenings may lead as well to prisons as to innocent, untroubled sleep.”

PrisonApathy
Book:L'Étranger
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“Yes, this was the evening hour when—how long ago it seemed!—I always felt so well content with life. Then, what awaited me was a night of easy, dreamless sleep. This was the same hour, but with a difference; I was returning to a cell, and what awaited me was a night haunted by forebodings of the coming day. And so I learned that familiar paths traced in the dusk of summer evenings may lead as well to prisons as to innocent, untroubled sleep.”

PrisonApathy
Book:The Stranger
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“As I was being taken from the courthouse to the prison van, I was conscious for a few brief moments of the once familiar feel of a summer evening out-of-doors. And, sitting in the darkness of my moving cell, I recognized, echoing in my tired brain, all the characteristic sounds of a town I'd loved, and of a certain hour of the day which I had always particularly enjoyed. The shouts of newspaper boys in the already languid air, the last calls of birds in the public garden, the cries of sandwich vendors, the screech of streetcars at the steep corners of the upper town, and that faint rustling overhead as darkness sifted down upon the harbor—all these sounds made my return to prison like a blind man's journey along a route whose every inch he knows by heart. Yes, this was the evening hour when—how long ago it seemed!—I always felt so well content with life. Then, what awaited me was a night of easy, dreamless sleep. This was the same hour, but with a difference; I was returning to a cell, and what awaited me was a night haunted by forebodings of the coming day. And so I learned that familiar paths traced in the dusk of summer evenings may lead as well to prisons as to innocent, untroubled sleep.”

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Author:Albert Camus
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