Quotes About Prison

A steel door clapped open as a guard stepped from the bulletproof viewing station across the hall. Adams! That you? I told you, I don't know- The cop pointed straight at him. Jeffrey Adams! Front and center! The black man helped him rise to his feet. Ain't everybody gets called back from the pit, man. Question is, what are you gonna do when you find out who you are?

A hotel is like a prison, he thought. The rooms are cells holding secrets and passions. Then something happens, the smallest thing, and the doors fly open. The explosion goes off. Panic. And fragments of truth.

Ozour pourtant est las du voyage. On part découragé, en lâche ou en héros, dans l'illusion d'une autre vie, mais il n'y a pas d'issue. L'exil est une prison.

I've been in prison, you see. Only three weeks, and only on remand,but when you've had to play chess twice a day with a monosyllabic West Ham supporter, who has 'HATE' tattooed on one hand, and 'HATE' on the other - using a set missing six pawns, all the rooks and two of the bishops - you find yourself cherishing little things in life. Like not being in prison.

I've been in prison, you see. Only three weeks, and only on remand, but when you've had to play chess twice a day with a monosyllabic West Ham supporter, who has 'HATE' tattooed on one hand, and 'HATE' on the other - using a set missing six pawns, all the rooks and two of the bishops - you find yourself cherishing the little things in life. Like not being in prison.

If I'd written all the truth I knew for the past ten years, about 600 people - including me - would be rotting in prison cells from Rio to Seattle today. Absolute truth is a very rare and dangerous commodity in the context of professional journalism.

But as a boomer with Beatles music in my DNA and Lennon songs in my head, every so often I stop and think about the music he might have created over the last 35 years. Then I think of that sad, twisted prick in prison and wish that every morning you could queue up outside his cell, and when he stuck his head out to get his breakfast, you could step up and punch him in the face. I'd wait in that line. But, I wouldn't shoot him, because violence doesn't solve anything. Though

Was it all inevitable, John?" Reeve was pushing his fingers across the floor of the cell, seated on his haunches. I was lying on the mattress. Yes," I said. "I think it was. Certainly, it's written that way. The end of the book is there before the beginning's hardly started.

One of those arrogant repeaters went to the hole for having a sassy look in his eyes. The charge was 'visual insubordination.

Mr. Pierce, you're going home tomorrow." "Are you serious?" She explained that Governor Brown had signed the order officially granting me parole: January 8, 2016, was my release date.

Man, don't worry about me," he said. "I know you're going to get out of there." "Dad, I don't know if I'm ever coming home. You can have one of my lungs. If I'm gonna die in prison, I'd rather something of mine be free.

I love you," he said. "All I want you to do is come home and be with your daughter." "Stop talking like that, Dad," I said. "I'm gonna work on getting a hardship transfer, so I can be at a prison closer to L.A. We'll see each

In October 2000, I finally received my hardship transfer to Donovan State Prison in San Diego. But it was too late for me to see my father. His cancer had progressed and there was no way he could make the 120-mile trip from

At Donovan, I joined Kairos, a prison-based ministry group, and attended church regularly. Kairos—that's Greek for "God's Time"—became an integral part of my life.

In late 2007, I found out I was being transferred out of Donovan, to a different Level III at Ironwood.

Robert, my closest brother, had died in prison—the story she heard was that he'd had a complication from some medications and had a heart attack. The coldest part is that he'd been dead and buried for two months—nobody besides my daughter had thought to tell me about it! Again, that's how death comes to you in prison.

was eligible for a Level II yard, and they had to find a suitable place for me. Corcoran was the place that God intended for me, the place where I could fully embrace and manifest the change I needed to make.

Because it was at Corcoran—on the Level II yard—that I immediately ran across some guys I'd known in

L.A., and they changed my whole outlook on doing time. There was this one guy in particular; his name was Rafik. He'd known me since I was in high school. He'd been a hustler, a player, a stone-cold street dude just like me. But in prison he became a Muslim. I always saw him walking around with college books. I couldn't believe

And besides running inmate self-helps, in 2009 I got involved in the Scared Straight program at Corcoran, and before long, I was one of the trainers. The officers would bring a group of about twenty kids to the

One afternoon, they called me into the warden's office at Corcoran. The warden wanted to talk to me personally. I was nervous, because

in more than twenty years of prison, I'd never been called into the warden's office. I walked in and he smiled at me, handing me a letter. It was from a fifteen-year-old Mexican American kid named Danny who I'd tried to connect with in a one-on-one.

I've probably been spit on more that any person alive outside of, I would say, a member of the prison system.

Tough girl I'm almost single, my husband's on death row.