Chavelier de Lorimier Quotes

We wrote verses that condemned us, with no hope of pardon, to the most bitter solitude.

Who made the world I cannot tell; 'Tis made, and here am I in hell. My hand, though now my knuckles bleed, I never soiled with such a deed.

To have the truth in your possession you can be found guilty, sentenced to death.

The hungry judges soon the sentence sign, and wretches hang that jurymen may dine.

You have been tried by twelve good men and true, not of your peers but as high above you as heaven is of hell, and they have said you are guilty. Time will pass and seasons will come and go. Spring with its waving green grass and heaps of sweet-smelling flowers on every hill and in every dale. Then sultry Summer, with her shimmering heat-waves on the baked horizon. And Fall, with her yeller harvest moon and the hills growing brown and golden under a sinking sun. And finally Winter, with its biting, whining wind, and all the land will be mantled with snow. But you won't be here to see any of 'em; not by a damn sight, because it's the order of this court that you be took to the nearest tree and hanged by the neck till you're dead, dead, dead, you olive-colored son of a billy goat.

My execution, and the execution of my gallows companions, will be of use to you. May they show you what you can expect of the English government.

Malcolm is worthy of death.

From this window we see the palace where the King is misled by perfidious counsels. Terror and fear have often issued from yon palace: let them return to-day in the name of the law, and let all those who inhabit that palace know that the King is alone inviolable, that the law will strike down the guilty without respect of persons, and that there is not a guilty head which can escape its sword.

I was put on death row because of hate.

I prefer a prison full of criminals than a graveyard full of innocent people.

Isn't all mankind ultimately executed for a crime it never committed?

Let us imagine a number of men in chains and all condemned to death, where some are killed each day in the sight of the others, and those who remain see their own fate in that of their fellows and wait their turn, looking at each other sorrowfully and without hope. It is an image of the condition of man.

Where do murderers go, man! Who's to doom, when the judge himself is dragged to the bar?

I am innocent of the blood of this just person; see ye to it.

When lovely woman stoops to folly, and finds too late that men betray, what charm can soothe her melancholy, what art can wash her guilt away?

You can't be sent away to prison for life and feel OK about it.

I'm sorry I didn't go to jail for six months, then I know you could come to see me anytime you wanted to.

Well, there's no one at all, they do be saying, but is deserving of some punishment from the very minute of his birth.

The crime and not the scaffold makes the shame.

They were being driven to a prison, through no fault of their own, in all probability for life. In comparison, how much easier it would be to walk to the gallows than to this tomb of living horrors!

I hear they burn for murder. Well, they say it just takes a second to die.

This death sentence is not surprising. It had to be.

Censure acquits the raven, but pursues the dove.

It is the crime not the scaffold which is the disgrace.

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