I'm little but I'm old.

Long ago, in a burst of friendliness, Aunty and Uncle Jimmy produced a son named Henry.

Hey, Mr. Cunningham. How's your entailment gettin' along?

I'm Charles Baker Harris...I can read

It was times like these when I thought my father, who hated guns and had never been to any wars, was the bravest man who ever lived.

Jen and I were accustomed to our father's last-will-and-testament diction, and were at times free to interrupt Atticus for a translation when it was beyond our understanding.

A mob's always made up of people, no matter what. Mr. Cunningham was part of a mob last night, but he was still a man. Every mob in every little Southern town is always made up of people you know--doesn't say much for them, does it?