Now...in an abundant society where people have laptops, cell phones, ipods and minds like empty rooms, I still plod along with books.

I came to the conclusion that people were just peculiar, I withdrew from them, and never thought about them until I was forced to.

That boy is your company. And if he wants to eat up that tablecloth, you let him, you hear?

There are just some kind of men…who’re so busy worrying about the next world they’ve never learned to live in this one.

I do much of my creative thinking while golfing. If people know you're working at home they think nothing of walking in for a cup of coffee, but wouldn't dream of interrupting on the golf course.

Atticus, he was real nice." "Most people are, Scout, when you finally see them.

When I pointed to him his palms slipped slightly, leaving greasy sweat streaks on the wall, and he hooked his thumbs in his belt. A strange spasm shook him, as if he heard fingernails scrape slate, but as I gazed at him in wonder the tension slowly drained from his face. His lips parted into a timid smile, and our neighbor’s image blurred with my sudden tears. “Hey, Boo,” I said. “Mr. Arthur, honey,” said Atticus, gently correcting me. “Jean Louise, this is Mr. Arthur Radley. I believe he already knows you.