Any Writer Worth His Salt Writes To

Talking To Francis Gave Me The Sensation Of Settling Slowly To The Bottom Of The Ocean.

Dill Was Off Again. Beautiful Things Floated Around In His Dreamy Head. He Could Read Two Books To My One, But He Preferred The Magic Of His Own Inventions. He Could Add And Subtract Faster Than Lightning, But He Preferred His Own Twilight World, A World Where Babies Slept, Waiting To Be Gathered Like Morning Lilies.

If There's Just One Kind Of Folks, Why Can't They Get Along With Each Other? If They're All Alike, Why Do They Go Out Of Their Way To Despise Each Other? Scout, I Think I'm Beginning To Understand Something. I Think I'm Beginning To Understand Why Boo Radley's Stayed Shut Up In The House All This Time. It's Because He Wants To Stay Inside.

Why Reasonable People Go Stark Raving Mad When Anything Involving A Negro Comes Up, Is Something I Don't Pretend To Understand.

Sometimes The Bible In The Hand Of One Man Is Worse Than A Whisky Bottle In The Hand Of Another... There Are Just Some Kind Of Men Who - Who're So Busy Worrying About The Next World They've Never Learned To Live In This One, And You Can Look Down The Street And See The Results.