The prison, above all others, should be the most human of institutions.

Wherever any one is against his will, that is to him a prison.

It is this refrain that we hear repeated by everyone: you are not at home, this is not a sanatorium, the only exit is by way of the Chimney. (What did it mean? Soon we were all to learn what it meant.)

Stone walls do not a prison make, Nor iron bars a cage; Minds innocent and quiet take That for an hermitage.

Prison is not a mere physical horror. It is using a pickaxe to no purpose that makes a prison.

Every prison that men build Is built with bricks of shame, And bound with bars lest Christ should see How men their brothers maim.

I know not whether Laws be right, Or whether Laws be wrong; All that we know who lie in gaol Is that the wall is strong; And that each day is like a year, A year whose days are long.

The vilest deeds like poison weeds Bloom well in prison-air: It is only what is good in Man That wastes and withers there: Pale Anguish keeps the heavy gate, And the warder is Despair.

Prison is a Socialist paradise where equality prevails, everything is supplied, and competition is eliminated.

It is often safer to be in chains than to be free.