Why reasonable people go stark raving mad when anything involving a Negro comes up, is something I don't pretend to understand.

Atticus told me to delete the adjectives and I'd have the facts.

Long ago, in a burst of friendliness, Aunty and Uncle Jimmy produced a son named Henry.

This time we aren't fighting the Yankees, we're fighting our friends. But remember this, no matter how bitter things get, they're still our friends and this is still our home.

We're paying the highest tribute you can pay a man. We trust him to do right. It's that simple.

It was times like these when I thought my father, who hated guns and had never been to any wars, was the bravest man who ever lived.

Neighbors bring food with death and flowers with sickness and little things in between. Boo was our neighbor. He gave us two soap dolls, a broken watch and chain, a pair of good-luck pennies, and our lives. But neighbors give in return. We never put back into the tree what we took out of it: we had given him nothing, and it made me sad.