Maycomb was a tired old town, even in 1932 when I first knew it. Somehow, it was hotter then. Men's stiff collars wilted by nine in the morning. Ladies bathed before noon after their three o'clock naps, and by nightfall were like soft teacakes with frosting from sweating and sweet talcum. The day was twenty-four hours long, but it seemed longer. There's no hurry, for there's nowhere to go and nothing to buy... and no money to buy it with.

Cecil Jacobs is a big wet hen!

Any writer worth his salt writes to please himself.

Nothin’s real scary except in books.

There's just some kind of men you have to shoot before you can say hidy to 'em. Even then, they ain't worth the bullet it takes to shoot 'em.

They've done it before and they'll do it again and when they do it -- seems that only the children weep. Good night.

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