At most, the greatest persons are but great wens, and excrescences; me >>
Despair is the damp of hell, as joy is the serenity of heaven. >>
Love, all alike, no season knows, nor clime, nor hours, days, months, >>
Under a government which imprisons any unjustly, the true place for a >>
We who live in prison, and in whose lives there is no event but sorrow >>
It isn't true that convicts live like animals: animals have more room >>
We are all conceived in close prison; in our mothers wombs, we are close prisoners all; when we are born, we are born but to the liberty of the house; prisoners still, though within larger walls; and then all our life is but a going out to the place of execution, to death.