Next morning I awoke, looked out the window and nearly died of fright. My screams brought Atticus from his bathroom half-shaven. "The world's endin', Atticus! Please do something -!" I dragged him to the window and pointed. "No it's not," he said. "It's snowing.

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

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

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

My objectives are very limited. I want to do the best I can with the talent God gave me. I hope to goodness that every novel I do gets better and better, not worse and worse.

Where are your pants, son?

It's not time to worry yet