Where are your pants, son?

Miss Jean Louise, stand up. Your father's passin'.

Any writer worth his salt writes to please himself...It's a self-exploratory operation that is endless. An exorcism of not necessarily his demon, but of his divine discontent.

The things that happen to people we never really know. What happens in houses behind closed doors, what secrets -

Talking to Francis gave me the sensation of settling slowly to the bottom of the ocean.

Nothin’s real scary except in books.

I had never thought about it, but summer was Dill by the fishpool smoking string, Dill's eyes alive with complicated plans to make Boo Radley emerge; summer was the swiftness with which Dill would reach up and kiss me when Jem was not looking, the longings we sometimes felt each other feel. With him, life was routine; without him, life was unbearable..." - Scout Finch