Best 138 quotes in «prisoner quotes» category

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

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

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

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.

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.

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 prisoner of your own illusions - about yourself and about the world.

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

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.

Yes. And release prisoners who are incarcerated for pot.

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

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

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.

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

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.

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.

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.

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.

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!

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

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

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

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!

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!

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.

I personally could never come to terms with my label of ‘Criminally Insane’. Just because of my violent outbursts in prison, don’t mean to say I’m mad. Obviously I had become a disruptive element within the penal system. Uncontrollable! Unpredictable! But that don’t make insanity!

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.

Imprisoned peace sets the war free

Insanity is a very lonely and empty existence - it’s painfully true. They may laugh and smile, and skip and dance, but behind all the faces there is hollowness like a bottomless pit. The living dead, depression is a terrible illness, so is psychosis, the mentally inflicted beyond cure.

In the case of Albertine, I felt that I should never discover anything, that, out of that tangled mass of details of fact and falsehood, I should never unravel the truth: and that it would always be so, unless I were to shut her up in prison (but prisoners escape) until the end.

Is Bronson mad! Let me ask you! How else can I be? I’m probably the maddest guy on two legs if the truth was known, but prison will never beat me, I’d sooner die today than allow it too!

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!

Insanity can be a heavy cross to bear; I mean look at all those people in loony bins compared to those that are free and walking the streets – a tiny percentage are classed as mad. The incidence of mental problems amongst people is said to be rising, so what do they go and do, they cut the amount of asylums by half! Whoever makes these decisions has to be a loon and a half!

In the hectic pace of the world today, there is no time for meditation, or for deep thought. A prisoner has time that he can put to good use. I’d put prison second to college as the best place for a man to go if he needs to do some thinking. If he’s motivated, in prison he can change his life.

Looking back at the years I spent in the asylums, I’m now convinced some of that insanity rubbed off onto me!

It was raining outside. It wasn’t heavy, but it left droplets on the windows, making it look like the window was covered in glitter which gleamed and shone in the candlelight. There was something outlandish about the place. It wasn’t only the grand rooms and the exquisite décor and not even the sheer size of the building; there was more to it. It was a feeling. She felt enveloped in it day and night. It wasn’t unpleasant or choking, but it wasn’t cosy and welcoming either. It was just there, like a straitjacket. She hoped that there could have been a bit more glitter and glamour to her days. She wasn’t exactly a sparkly kind of girl, but she missed… something.

I was sixteen, still my mother’s prisoner, the night I became the whale.

I went through a period where I couldn’t keep off the establishment’s roofs, it was a serious urge I had. To look at a drainpipe and start shaking with excitement, nobody knows the feeling of hitting a prison roof, not unless you’ve done it. Let me tell you, it’s like a lotto win - it’s power. You’re the governor; it’s a kick in the teeth to the system.

It is important not to become a prisoner of fate.

I’ve been an inmate in Broadmoor, Rampton and Ashworth. I was one of ‘them’. I was once Britain’s most unstable madman! This book is a complete one off! If you’re a nervous type of reader then don’t read it. You’ve been warned! You are now entering the world of insanity; please keep hold of your sanity until the book comes to a stop!

i was a prisoner of events

Madness is a bowl of poison cherries, chew them and die, but you die screaming in agony.

Mad people are very emotionally orientated! They have complex feelings, they’re easily upset, but are also easy to please! Most mad people have lonely lives, as nobody understands them. So they become “Lost Souls.” They dream a lot. Go within their minds to search - some will turn strange, become dangerous. So a madman is created! His world becomes a mission.

Madness is forever! We even smell different, our hearts don’t beat, they tick, our eyes are different, we don’t just see, we also pick up vibes. We are probably dehumanised and way past our ‘sell by’ date, totally unusable, bitter as lemons.

Nowadays I just don’t care; I’ve taken the Frank Zappa stance. I am who I am! Some love me, some loathe me, some respect me and some despise me. But after all that’s been, I still love the insane! As they’re exciting, dangerous and highly explosive! For me mad dogs are gentlemen.

Mas para você conhecer uma pessoa, precisa de tempo. Precisa comer um pacote de sal juntos, como dizia meu pai. As histórias que ouviu, foram as que elas quiseram te contar. Histórias em que elas acreditam porque repetiram muitas vezes, visando a liberdade. Ou seja: são ficções. O pior ser humano dentro da cadeia se considera vitima, injustiçado. Toda a realidade está imersa em ficção - especialmente quando há culpa envolvida.