The fact of my having been the common prisoner of a common gaol I
must frankly accept, and, curious as it may seem, one of the things
I shall have to teach myself is not to be ashamed of it. I must
accept it as a punishment, and if one is ashamed of having been
punished, one might just as well never have been punished at all.
Of course there are many things of which I was convicted that I had
not done, but then there are many things of which I was convicted
that I had done, and a still greater number of things in my life
for which I was never indicted at all. And as the gods are
strange, and punish us for what is good and humane in us as much as
for what is evil and perverse, I must accept the fact that one is
punished for the good as well as for the evil that one does. I
have no doubt that it is quite right one should be. It helps one,
or should help one, to realise both, and not to be too conceited
about either. And if I then am not ashamed of my punishment, as I
hope not to be, I shall be able to think, and walk, and live with
freedom.

Many men on their release carry their prison about with them into
the air, and hide it as a secret disgrace in their hearts, and at
length, like poor poisoned things, creep into some hole and die.
It is wretched that they should have to do so, and it is wrong,
terribly wrong, of society that it should force them to do so.
Society takes upon itself the right to inflict appalling punishment
on the individual, but it also has the supreme vice of shallowness,
and fails to realise what it has done. When the man's punishment
is over, it leaves him to himself; that is to say, it abandons him
at the very moment when its highest duty towards him begins. It is
really ashamed of its own actions, and shuns those whom it has
punished, as people shun a creditor whose debt they cannot pay, or