It's Not Time To Worry Yet

They've Done It Before And They'll Do It Again And When They Do It -- Seems That Only The Children Weep. Good Night.

Try Fighting With Your Head For A Change... It's A Good One, Even If It Does Resist Learning.

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.

It's Quite A Thing, If You've Never Been In Or Known A Small Southern Town. The People Are Not Particularly Sophisticated, Naturally. They're Not Worldly Wise In Any Way. But They Tell You A Story Whenever They See You.

Nothing Is More Deadly Than A Deserted, Waiting Street.