Havin' A Gun Around's An Invitation To

About Your Writing With You Left Hand, Are You Ambidextrous, Mr. Ewell?" "i Most Positively Am Not, I Can Use One Hand Good As The Other. One Hand Good As The Other.

A Mob's Always Made Up Of People, No Matter What. Mr. Cunningham Was Part Of A Mob Last Night, But He Was Still A Man. Every Mob In Every Little Southern Town Is Always Made Up Of People You Know--doesn't Say Much For Them, Does It?

Things Are Always Better In The Morning.

Naturally, You Don't Sit Down In "white Hot Inspiration" And Write With A Burning Flame In Front Of You. But Since I Knew I Could Never Be Happy Being Anything But A Writer, And Mockingbird Put Itself Together For Me So Accommodatingly, I Kept At It Because I Knew It Had To Be My First Novel, For Better Or For Worse.

When I Pointed To Him His Palms Slipped Slightly, Leaving Greasy Sweat Streaks On The Wall, And He Hooked His Thumbs In His Belt. A Strange Spasm Shook Him, As If He Heard Fingernails Scrape Slate, But As I Gazed At Him In Wonder The Tension Slowly Drained From His Face. His Lips Parted Into A Timid Smile, And Our Neighbor’s Image Blurred With My Sudden Tears. “hey, Boo,” I Said. “mr. Arthur, Honey,” Said Atticus, Gently Correcting Me. “jean Louise, This Is Mr. Arthur Radley. I Believe He Already Knows You.