Tupac Shakur Quotes

In jail I was just like everybody else, I was sitting there praying, feeling caged.

Being locked up is one thing, but to have no concept of confinement, to be ignorant of its terms and never understand that struggle is useless - that's what hell must be like.

His vision, from the constantly passing bars, has grown so weary that it cannot hold anything else. It seems to him there are a thousand bars, and behind the bars, no world. As he paces in cramped circles, over and over, the movement of his powerful soft strides is like a ritual dance around a center in which a mighty will stands paralyzed. Only at times, the curtain of the pupils lifts, quietly. An image enters in, rushes down through the tense, arrested muscles, plunges into the heart and is gone.

I say my hell is the closet I'm stuck inside.

You can keep a person locked up too long.

On the wagon sped, and I, as well as my comrades, gave a despairing farewell glance at freedom as we came in sight of the long stone buildings.

I stagnated in prison a long time, and I have wasted most of my life.

In the internment camp, there was nothing to do.

I really don't like being in jail.

Being in a five-by-seven every day for 365 days a year is more than what the average man could stand. You weren't built to be in a cage that long.

There's no way out of here.

People are often unable to do anything, imprisoned as they are in I don't know what kind of terrible, terrible, oh such terrible cage.

The formula for prison is a lack of space counterbalanced by a surplus of time. This is what really bothers you, that you can't win. Prison is lack of alternatives, and the telescopic predictability of the future is what drives you crazy.

I thought about how unlikely it was I would ever meet any guy,fall in love, get married, have babies. Especially since I was going to spend the rest of my life in the cellar, where, in the not too distant future, I'd turn into a toadstool. I hoped I'd be the poisonous variety.

For us there is only one season, the season of sorrow. The very sun and moon seem taken from us. Outside, the day may be blue and gold, but the light that creeps down through the thickly-muffled glass of the small iron-barred window beneath which one sits is grey and niggard. It is always twilight in one's cell, as it is always twilight in one's heart. And in the sphere of thought, no less than in the sphere of time, motion is no more.

Captivity is the greatest of all evils that can befall one.

How can one not succumb and allow one's courage to fail when everything is shut tight, when all meaningful things are walled up, and when you constantly knock against bricks, as against the walls of a prison?

I am now a man of despair, rejected, abandoned, shut up in this iron cage from which there is no escape.

When you're in prison, you can't do anything about what's happening outside.

What use would wings be to a man bound in iron fetters? They would only drive him to even greater despair.

Two places in this world make it impossible for a man to escape from himself: a battlefield and a prison cell.

No good ever comes from putting up walls. What people mistake for safety is in fact captivity. And few things thrive in captivity.

No bird in a cage ever speaks. What is there to say? The sky is everywhere, churning above its head, blue and endless, calling out to it. But the caged bird can't answer anything except 'I cannot'.

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

I feel like I've been shut in a closet, and he's on the other side, and he doesn't have the key to unlock the door.