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.

I'm still old-fashioned. I love dusty old books and libraries.

I have said what I wanted to say and I will not say it again.

But sometimes we have to make the best of things, and the way we conduct ourselves when the chips are down.

Are you proud of yourself tonight that you have insulted a total stranger whose circumstances you know nothing about?

Ladies in bunches always filled me with vague apprehension and a firm desire to be elsewhere.

They're real strong magic, they make you have good luck. Not like fried chicken when you're not lookin' for it, but things like long life n' good health, n' passin' six weeks tests...these are real valuable to somebody.