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

Ladies pick funny things to be proud of.

There was nowhere to go, but I turned to go and met Atticus's vest front. I buried my head in it and listened to the small internal noises that went on behind the light blue cloth: his watch ticking, the faint crackle of his starched shirt, the soft sound of his breathing. 'Your stomach's growling,' I said. 'I know it,' he said.

Cecil Jacobs is a big wet hen!

Prejudice, a dirty word, and faith, a clean one, have something in common: they both begin where reason ends.

Miss Caroline seemed unaware that the ragged, denim-shirted and floursack-skirted first grade, most of whom had chopped cotton and fed hogs from the time they were able to walk, were immune to imaginative literature.

That proves something- that a gang of wild animals can be stopped, simply because they're still human.