Quotes About Imprisonment

the prisoners all proved to be men of a very low, mixed-blooded, and mentally aberrant type. Most were seamen, and a sprinkling of negroes and mulattoes, largely West Indians or Brava Portuguese from the Cape Verde Islands

Plato, along with the latest pope, recognised how dangerous it is to have an artist around making mischief, stirring things up with the spoon of truth and intoxicant of fantasy and magic. And so, for crossing the line, and for stealing God's fire, artists were banned, imprisoned, condemned, silenced, killed – they always would be, these sometimes Christs of the page.

When we look at our justice system, we have this image of a balancing scale: truth and justice, right and wrong. But for years, our system has been lopsided, where it's not about truth and justice or balance. It's about being tough on crime, and sometimes that means you're putting the wrong person behind bars.

I am not going to write 'Fifty Shades of Royal Purple.' Well I could, but I would be put in a beautifully decorated - that having been my profession before - room in the Tower.

There is this place called the Tower of London and I think if I wrote about any Royal figure as recent as the 20th Century I might end up there!

Living the rest of my life in Kerobokan, waiting to die, was what I had in front of me.

Poverty, disease, sorrow, imprisonment and other evils are the fruits borne by the tree of one's own sins.

Every man is a prisoner, and the greatest irony of all is to be the prisoner of another man.

But sometimes, when confronted by something of unfathomable beauty, the bars of the cage around us begin to tremble. So I ran away to protect myself and remained a prisoner.

To sit in solemn silence in a dull dark dock,In a pestilential prison, with a life-long lock,Awaiting the sensation of a short, sharp shock,From a cheap and chippy chopper on a big black block.

The choice that frees or imprisons us is the choice of love or fear. Love liberates. Fear imprisons.

Do not reveal, if liberty is precious to you; my face is the prison of love.

The prisoner grows to love his chains.

The prisoner falls in love with his chains.

You can't see the warden. You can't see the locks. But you can see the prisoners. You can see them as they sit on their bunks and bemoan their fate. They want to live, but they can't because they are doomed to do what they most want to avoid—they will die. Imagine Jesus seeing us in our "prisons" of fear:

But a caged bird stands on the grave of dreams his shadow shouts on a nightmare scream his wings are clipped and his feet are tied so he opens his throat to sing. The caged bird sings with a fearful trill of things unknown but longed for still and his tune is heard on the distant hill for the caged bird sings of freedom. from Caged Bird

Thrust into this dingy classroom we die like lampless moths locked into the desolation of fluorescent lights and metal desks. Ten minutes until the bell rings. What use is the quadratic formula in our daily lives? Can we use it to unlock the secrets in the hearts of those we love? Five minutes until the bell rings. Cruel Algebra teacher, won't you let us go?

She's like a prisoner inside stone walls, and every day the walls get a little thicker, the doorways a little narrower. And? Eddis prompted. Well, said Eugenides, it's a challenge.

That prison, I said with heartfelt sincerity, Was absolutely the most awful thing that has happened to me in my entire life. I could tell by the way he looked at me that he thought my life had been filled with one awful thing after another.

What a strange world it is, where prisoners are left their weapons and the written word is a mortal danger.

We're all trapped. I'm as trapped as they are. The more Ben thought about it, the more he knew it was true. He hadn't chosen to be born a prince and become a king, just as they hadn't chosen who their parents were. They were prisoners for a crime they themselves had not committed. That was the greater crime, wasn't it? It's not fair. It's not our fault. We have no say in our own lives. We're living in a fairy tale someone else wrote.

Glorious,' said Steerpike, 'is a dictionary word. We are all imprisoned by the dictionary. We choose out of that vast, paper-walled prison our convicts, the little black printed words, when in truth we need fresh sounds to utter, new enfranchised noises which would produce a new effect.

Perhaps you think it's quiet in the prison, but it's noisy. For every activity iron doors have to be opened and closed and iron passageways and iron steps have to be walked down. By day people shout at one another and at night they shout in their sleep....You want to know what the worst thing is? That life is elsewhere. That you're cut off from kt and rotting, and the longer you wait for afterward, the less afterward is worth.

For this I suffer, to the point of being bound like a criminal; but God's message is not bound. 2 Timothy 2:9