He likened Tom’s death to the senseless slaughter of songbirds by hunters and children.
Sometimes, it’s never an insult to be called what someone thinks is a bad name.
Henry laughed and said, “Honey, the sun rises and sets with that Bill of hers. Everything he says is Gospel. She loves her man.” “Is that what loving your man is?” “Has a lot to do with it.” Jean Louise said, “You mean losing your own identity, don’t you?” “In a way, yes,” said Henry. “Then I doubt if I shall ever marry. I never met a man – ” “You’re gonna marry me, remember?” “Hank, I may as well tell you now and get it over with: I’m not going to marry you. Period and that’s that.
Mr. Nathan, Mr. Arthur, mad dog’s comin’! Mad dog’s comin’!
You may be sorry, but I’m proud of you.” She looked up and saw her father beaming at her. “What?” “I said I’m proud of you.” “I.
To all parties present and participating in the life of the county, however, Alexandra was the last of her kind: she had river-boat, boarding-school manners; let any moral come along and she would uphold it; she was a disapprover; she was an incurable gossip.
There goes the meanest man ever God blew breath into,” murmured Calpurnia, and she spat meditatively into the yard. We.
Love’s the only thing in this world that is unequivocal.
We don’t write in the first grade, we print. You won’t learn to write until you’re in the third grade.” Calpurnia.
He was letting you reduce him to the status of a human being.” I love you. As you please. Where she would have had a spirited argument only, an exchange of ideas, a clash of hard and different points of view with a friend, with him she had tried to destroy. She had tried to tear him to pieces, to wreck him, to obliterate him. Childe Roland to the dark tower came.
Jem restrained me from further questions. He said Atticus was still touchous about us and the Radleys and it wouldn’t do to push him any. Jem.
But it’s okay to hate Hitler?” “It is not,” he said. “It’s not okay to hate anybody.
Your trouble, now, you want to have your cake and eat it: you want to stop the clock, but you can’t.
He oughta be here by now,” said Calpurnia, pointing down the street. “Not runnin’, is he?” asked Mr. Tate. “Naw sir, he’s in the twitchin’ stage, Mr. Heck.” “Should we go after him, Heck?” asked Atticus. “We better wait, Mr. Finch. They usually go in a straight line, but you never can tell. He might follow the curve – hope he does or he’ll go straight in the Radley back yard. Let’s wait a minute.
Why did you take so much trouble with me today? I know how you hate to move out of that house.” “Because you’re my child. You and Jem were the children I never had. You two gave me something long ago, and I’m trying to pay my debts. You two helped me a – ” “How, sir?
Let’s try to make him come out,” said Dill. “I’d like to see what he looks like.” Jem said if Dill wanted to get himself killed, all he had to do was go up and knock on the front door.
Jean Louise was accustomed to her uncle’s brand of intellectual shorthand: it was his custom to state one or two isolated facts, and a conclusion seemingly unsupported thereby. Slowly and surely, if prodded correctly, Dr. Finch would unwind the reel of his strange lore to reveal reasoning that glittered with a private light of its own.
Tim Johnson was advancing at a snail’s pace, but he was not playing or sniffing at foliage: he seemed dedicated to one course and motivated by an invisible force that was inching him toward us. We could see him shiver like a horse shedding flies; his jaw opened and shut; he was alist, but he was being pulled gradually toward us.
The crowd was visibly impressed with Jean Louise. Girls she saw every day asked her where she got her dress, as if they didn’t all get them there: “Ginsberg’s. Calpurnia took it up,” she said. Several of the younger boys with whom she had been on eye-gouging terms only a few years ago made self-conscious conversation with her.
There was some skill involved in being a girl.