Quotes About Prison

The false assumptions, fake barriers and untruthful worldview he absorbed from those around him taught him to speak like a powerless victim. To see prison bars that were not there, sort of like when a dog who had an invisible fence around its yard has that fence taken away, yet still won't cross the border.

What do you call a clairvoyant midget who just broke out of prison? A small medium at large!

There was a time when our desire for each other would have landed us in an asylum or prison, had it not been sanctioned by mutual assent. True or false.

He went to prison," she said. "For beating up on you?" "In Texas?" she said. She laughed, just a yelp, like a short cry of pain. "Now I know you're new here.

The cell was very dark. I could just about see a bunk bed, a sink and a john.

Death was something inevitable and even unimportant, of which it was not worth while to think; but for a man in prison, before his execution, to be left without tobacco—that was altogether unbearable.

I hear they feed you in Sing Sing," Evie muttered. "Three squares a day." "Evangeline," Will said with a sigh. "Charity begins at home." "So does mental illness.

Sam whistled. This is some fancy prison they got you in, Freddy. Or do I call you Sir Frederick now? You call me Jericho. For a change, Jericho said.

Society created the prison in its own image; will history, with its penchant for paradox, reverse those roles?

In an unjust society the only place for a just man is prison.

I feel that if I ever did adjust to prison, I could by that alone never adjust to society.

When I was in prison, I was wrapped up in all those deep books. That Tolstoy crap - people shouldn't read that stuff.

We experience ourselves our thoughts and feelings as something separate from the rest. A kind of optical delusion of consciousness. This delusion is a kind of prison for us, restricting us to our personal desires and to affection for a few persons nearest to us.

It is very difficult to explain this feeling to anyone who is entirely without it, especially as there is no anthropomorphic conception of God corresponding to it. The individual feels the nothingness of human desires and aims and the sublimity and marvelous order which reveal themselves both in Nature and in the world of though. He looks upon individual existence as a sort of prison and wants to experience the universe as a single significant whole.

Una dictadura perfecta tendría la apariencia de una democracia,pero sería básicamente una prisión sin muros de la que los presos ni siquiera sonarían con escapar.Sería esencialmente un sistema de esclavitud,en el que gracias al consumo y el entretenimiento,los esclavos amarian su servidumbre.

The perfect dictatorship would have the appearance of a democracy, but would basically be a prison without walls in which the prisoners would not even dream of escaping. It would essentially be a system of slavery where, through consumption and entertainment, the slaves would love their servitudes.

Home, home - a few small rooms, stiflingly over-inhabited by a man, by a periodically teeming woman, by rabble of boys and girls of all ages. No air, no space; an understerilized prison; darkness, disease and smells.

But there's a hard core of sense. If you're a Tantrik, you don't renounce the world or deny its value; you don't try to escape into a Nirvana apart from life, as the monks of the Southern School do. No, you accept the world, and you make use of it; you make use of everything you do, of everything that happens to you, of all the things you see and hear and taste and touch, as so many means to your liberation from the prison of yourself.

Prison, the supreme trap . . . where a language without words finally reveals to him the expiatory meaning of these last days.

No buts, Bertie. If you don't keep your promise then you'll get into serious trouble. Big time. You could go to prison, and then what? And there's God too. God watches these things and if he sees you breaking promises he can really get you. He does it all the time.

Oh, Mercédès, I have spoken your name with sighs of melancholy, with groans of pain and with the croak of despair. I have spoken it frozen with cold, huddled on the straw of my dungeon. I have spoken it raging with heat and rolling around on the stone floor of my prison. Mercédès, I must have my revenge, because for fourteen years I suffered, fourteen years I wept and cursed. Now, I say to you, Mercédès, I must have my revenge!

There is more terror in a day of life than there is at the moment of death. It is as if a door has opened to a prison, though you do not believe it is a prison while you exist within it.

We are all serving a life sentence, and good behavior is our only hope for a pardon.

A baby starved of social contact has difficulty developing a regulated nervous system. Young men with few social acquaintances develop high adrenaline levels. Lonely students have low levels of immune cells. Prison inmates prefer violence to solitary confinement. In the US, social isolation is a greater public health problem than obesity.