Best 138 quotes in «prisoner quotes» category

Ours is a civil fight, and imprisonment as a civil prisoner has got to be earned by the strict observance of the programme.

Prison life, fortunately, I spent a lot of years, about 18 years with other prisoners, and, as I say, they enriched your soul.

Personal lyricism is the outcry of prisoner to prisoner from the cell in solitary where each is confined for the duration of his life.

The lives of prisoners of war after they are returned is almost never discussed, never explored.

The hazards of the generalized prisoner's dilemma are removed by the match between the right and the good.

There are few prisoners more closely guarded than princes.

The prisoner falls in love with his chains.

The prisoner is not the one who has commited a crime, but the one who clings to his crime and lives it over and over.

The unhappy are prisoners of a single round of thought.

There is no greater hell than to be a prisoner of fear.

The voluntary captive The speechless the prisoner Which I hide in my very depths.

Those who build walls are their own prisoners.

The West has political prisoners.

Those who build walls are their own prisoners. I'm going to go fulfill my proper function in the social organism. I'm going to unbuild walls.

What are you? Stupid? Of course they have a guard. What part of ‘You’re a prisoner’ did you miss? (Delphine)

Timeless is the creature who is wise. And timeless is the prisoner in disguise.

To me I just, I'm a geek when it comes to cinematographers . And when it comes to Robert and when it comes to someone like Roger Deakins who shot Prisoners and he shot Jarhead.

Visual supervision is a joke for development workers. Visual supervision is for prisoners.

We have not come here to take prisoners But to surrender ever more deeply To freedom and joy.

When we are attentive to our actions we are not prisoners to our habits.

What I have experienced is nothing compared to what political prisoners in prisons suffer.

When those pictures of Abu Ghraib came out, I thought, my gosh, this is like the tiger cages for prisoners in Vietnam all over again. Only we were actually doing it ourselves, we weren't hiring another government to do it.

A prisoner is imprisoned by the crime that he has committed. A jailer is imprisoned — in the very same prison — by the employment contract that he has signed.

A doctor once asked me: 'Charlie, what do you think your problem is?' “Doc,' I said, '…you’re the problem!

After a week he was moved to a different wing and into a shared six-by-eight with a grizzled old con called Alf. He had faded tattoos that stained most of the visible skin on his hands, arms and neck a dull blue, sharp eyes and a thick beard that made his mouth look like an axe wound on a bear.

After six long hours of driving and three rest stops, Tiger pulls up to a snow-topped, metal speaker box just outside the State Penitentiary's first gate in Walla Walla. As he rolls down his window and snow flies in his face, Joshua starts begging for a Happy Meal. I turn around, snapping at him. "This ISN'T MCDONALDS and YOU AREN'T HUNGRY. NOW SHUT UP BRAT." A loud scratchy masculine voice blasts out of the speaker. "CAN I HELP YOU?" Tiger leans out the window, as he answers- We're here to visit Raven Chandler. "HAVE YOU BEEN HERE BEFORE?" "Yes sir. I've been here A LOT." "WHERE'S HIS MOTHER?" "I don't know.. I haven't seen her in months." "NOT THE PRISONER'S MOTHER. THE BRAT IN THE BACK SEAT OF YOUR JEEP." "Oh- HIM-" As he turns, smiling and sticking his tongue out at Joshua, I lean towards his window to answer the guard's question. "SHE'S IN VEGAS, SIR. I'M BABYSITTING. HE'S MY GODSON." When the speaker remains disturbingly silent for far too long, I continue. "HE'S A GOOD BOY SIR. HE WON'T BE ANY TROUBLE- I SWEAR." "THAT'S RIGHT," Tiger said. "HE SWEARS ON THE LITTLE BRAT'S MOTHER'S GRAVE.

A loon thought he was Frank Sinatra and every time Frank came on TV or radio the loon would go mad, impostor!

A madman overcomes it by adapting to his surroundings. You can’t give up. Why die? There is always another mission; it’s the missions that keep you alive.

Yes. And release prisoners who are incarcerated for pot.

You cannot be a prisoner of your past against your will. Because you can only live in the past inside your mind.

You're a tourist in sexual perversion. I'm a prisoner there.

You're a prisoner of your own illusions - about yourself and about the world.

A prisoner's shackles would always be a lawyers joy.

A prisoner should know that there are thousands of imprisoned freemen living in this world…jailed in their own society, handcuffed by duties..

Broadmoor creeps into your blood, the walls touch the sky and the grounds suck you in, they’ve even got their own burial ground. We called it the ‘madman’s hole’, it smelt of fear; a stillness and even the birds seemed to have a stone face like their eyes were made of marble. So many monsters, men of hell, I don’t know how a sane man can keep sane in there.

Ask anybody, would you want an ex-madman living next door? It’s difficult enough being an ex-convict. It’s double hard for us ‘madmen’. Please believe it.

Asylums are crazy places, with crazy rules. If you’re not mad when you arrive, you are when you leave. (That’s if you ever leave.) I was lucky…I got slung out; they couldn’t afford to keep me any longer.

A year ago I was being kept in this cell and I didn't want to kill anyone, not even the people who held me prisoner. I just wanted to escape, just wanted freedom. And now I have that; I have my freedom.

Fuck the rabbit, eat it and go after a lion.

Ever see moors murderer Ian Brady, study his photos, study Black, study Cannon, study Sutcliffe - study them all! Who says evil is not recognisable?

Does it get any better than sleeping next to you on a cold rainy night? Watching myself in your eyes and the way I shine in there. Hearing the drizzle and getting weaker every time the breeze touches our bare skin. Every time you smile, these little butterflies with their wings on fire, flies inside my heart and I constantly fail to cage these feelings in mere words. All I need at that moment is you inside my arms. And to stay a prisoner inside your eyes, for an eternity.

Evil is there, out there and in your faces! You have two choices, either run or fight! To run is to die a coward! To fight is to win!

He got a lovely pair of trainers given off his mum for Christmas, best pair he ever had, but it was the nylon laces that he couldn’t take his eyes off. They found him hanging in his cell!

I felt that it was getting very late indeed, but I did not say anything, for I felt under obligation to meet my host's wishes in ever way.

He tried to measure his day by tallying the hours on his wrist. I wiped it off and called him a prisoner. He placed the hours on a scale with hours from former days to compare. I took a hammer and broke it all. He bent down and picked up the shards of minutes first then swept the seconds. I told him he’d missed a spot; there were some sparkling specks left. 'What are they?' he asked. 'Those are moments,' I said. 'What are they made of?' he asked. They are times, I thought, when you win a race or win a heart. They are times when you give birth or lay something, someone to rest. When you wake up in the morning with a smile because anything is possible. When someone compliments the thing you hate most about yourself. Times when you are embarrassed. Times when you are hurtful. Times when you relish in a hearty meal. Times when you service others and are content with a well-spent day. 'What are they made of?' he asked again. 'They are made up of times when we are fully present.' I picked up one of the specks with the tip of my finger. 'Do you remember this?' I asked. 'Of course,' he said, 'I was whistling in the kitchen that morning.' 'Why?' I asked. 'Because of the knowledge that I was loved.

He was a silent type, very nervy of people: shy, introverted, nobody would believe he could scream so loud…well he did drink a bottle of bleach!

I am a creation of the establishment, I realise I’m not as strong as life itself, but I also realise death will suck me in. The eyes and fingers are pointing in my direction. For me, there is only one way – one road, one signpost; it reads, ‘Hell’. It’s a one-way ticket; there are no brakes on my vehicle, there is no way out, only one way in.

I felt ancient and exhausted. I felt like a prisoner within myself and as if I was just watching a movie that was playing before my eyes. I just wanted all of it to end and disappear; I wanted to disappear.

If evil lingers around you, it will rub off on you, it will cause stress, anxiety and a lot of mental anguish! ‘Eyes’ - you can see evil in the eye of the beholder! Body! Talk! Stance! Walk! Posture! Evil oozes out!

Imprisoned peace sets the war free