Turtles Don't Feel, Stupid," Said Jem. "were

I've Been Writing As Long As I've Been Able To Form Words. I Never Wrote With An Idea Of Publishing Anything Until I Began Working On '[to Kill A] Mockingbird'. I Think That What Went Before May Have Been A Rather Subconscious Form Of Learning How To Write, Of Training Myself.

Somewhere, I Had Received The Impression That Fine Folks Were People Who Did The Best They Could With The Sense They Had, But Aunt Alexandra Was Of The Opinion, Obliquely Expressed, That The Longer A Family Had Been Squatting On One Patch Of Land The Finer It Was.

I'm Gonna Be A New Kind Of Clown. I'm Gonna Stand In The Middle Of The Ring And Laugh At The Folks.

Summer Was Our Best Season: It Was Sleeping On The Back Screeneed Porch In Cots, Or Trying To Sleep In The Treehouse; Summer Was Everything Good To Eat;it Was A Thousand Colors In A Parched Landscape.

Jem Gave A Reasonable Description Of Boo: Boo Was About Six-and-a-half Feet Tall, Judging From His Tracks; He Dined On Raw Squirrels And Any Cats He Could Catch, That's Why His Hands Were Bloodstained - If You Ate Animal Raw, You Could Never Wash The Blood Off. There Was A Long Jagged Scar That Ran Across His Face; What Teeth He Had Were Yellow And Rotten; His Eyes Popped, And He Drooled Most Of The Time.