Any Writer Worth His Salt Writes To

Maycomb Was A Tired Old Town, Even In 1932 When I First Knew It. Somehow, It Was Hotter Then. Men's Stiff Collars Wilted By Nine In The Morning. Ladies Bathed Before Noon After Their Three O'clock Naps, And By Nightfall Were Like Soft Teacakes With Frosting From Sweating And Sweet Talcum. The Day Was Twenty-four Hours Long, But It Seemed Longer. There's No Hurry, For There's Nowhere To Go And Nothing To Buy... And No Money To Buy It With.

The Things That Happen To People We Never Really Know. What Happens In Houses Behind Closed Doors, What Secrets -

I'm Still Old-fashioned. I Love Dusty Old Books And Libraries.

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

The One Place Where A Man Ought To Get A Square Deal Is In A Courtroom, Be He Any Color Of The Rainbow, But People Have A Way Of Carrying Their Resentments Right Into A Jury Box.