I Try To Give'em A Reason, You

There's Just Some Kind Of Men You Have To Shoot Before You Can Say Hidy To 'em. Even Then, They Ain't Worth The Bullet It Takes To Shoot 'em.

Calpurnia Evidently Remembered A Rainy Sunday When We Were Both Fatherless And Teacherless. Let To Its Own Devices, The Class Tied Eunice Ann Simpson To A Chair And Placed Her In The Furnace Room. We Forgot Her, Trooped Upstairs To Church, And Were Listening Quietly To The Sermon When A Dreadful Banging Issued From The Radiator Pipes, Persisting Until Someone Investigated And Brought Forth Eunice Ann Saying She Didn't Want To Play Shadrach Any More - Jem Finch Said She Wouldn't Get Burnt If She Had Enough Faith, But It Was Hot Down There.

I Don't Want To Hear Any Words Like That While I'm Here. Scout, You'll Get In Trouble If You Go Around Saying Things Like That. You Want To Grow Up To Be A Lady, Don't You?' I Said Not Particularly.

I Could Think Of Nothing Else To Say To Her. In Fact I Could Never Think Of Anything To Say To Her, And I Sat Thinking Of Past Painful Conversations Between Us: How Are You, Jean Louise? Fine, Thank You Ma'am, How Are You? Very Well, Thank You; What Have You Been Doing With Yourself? Nothin'. Don't You Do Anything? Nome. Certainly You Have Friends? Yessum. Well What Do You All Do? Nothin'.

Writing Is A Process Of Self-discipline You Must Learn Before You Can Call Yourself A Writer. There Are People Who Write, But I Think They're Quite Different From People Who Must Write.