Quotes from Harper Lee

wanted you to see what real courage is, instead of getting the idea that courage is a man with a gun in his hand. It's when you know you're licked before you begin but you begin anyway and you see it through no matter what. You rarely win, but sometimes you do. Mrs. Dubose won, all ninety-eight pounds of her. According to her views, she died beholden to nothing and nobody. She was the bravest person I ever knew.

Uncle Jimmy got wind of Francis's attitude and sent up another message from the woods that he was ready and willing to meet him if Francis wanted to come shoot him, but Francis never did, and eventually a third communication reached Francis, to wit: if you won't come down here like a man, hush.

She had cool green eyes and jet hair, a quick smile, and was the type of girl Jem fell for with monotonous regularity.

She was silent. Time stopped, shifted, and went lazily in reverse. Somehow, then, it was always summer.

That was the one thing that made me think, well, this may be the shadow of a beginning. That jury took a few hours. An inevitable verdict, maybe, but usually it takes 'em just a few minutes. This time—" he broke off and looked at us. "You might like to know that there was one fellow who took considerable wearing down—in the beginning he was rarin' for an outright acquittal.

I said, you and Jem were very special to me—you were my dream-children, but as Kipling said, that's another story . . . call on me tomorrow, and you'll find me a grave man.

Bu böyle deÄŸildi, yemin ederim deÄŸildi. Ä°nsanlar bir nedenle birbirlerine güvenirdi; nedenini unuttum...

real good snub, Atticus, makes you feel like you're too nasty to associate with people. How they're as good as they are now is a mystery to me, after a hundred years of systematic denial that they're human.

The jail was Maycomb's only conversation piece: its detractors said it looked like a Victorian privy; its supporters said it gave the town a good solid respectable look, and no stranger would ever suspect that it was full of niggers.

can hit 'em, but remember it's a sin to kill a mockingbird.

it's always easy to look back and see what we were, yesterday, ten years ago. It is hard to see what we are.

Take him, Mr. Finch." Mr. Tate handed the rifle to Atticus; Jem and I nearly fainted. "Don't waste time, Heck," said Atticus.

The rural children who could, usually brought clippings from what they called The Grit Paper, a publication spurious in the eyes of Miss Gates, our teacher. Why she frowned when a child recited from The Grit Paper I never knew, but in some way it was associated with liking fiddling, eating syrupy biscuits for lunch, being a holy-roller, singing Sweetly Sings the Donkey and pronouncing it dunkey, all of which the state paid teachers to discourage. Even

It was a happy cemetery.

There are just some men who -- who're so busy worrying about the next world they've never learned to live in this one [...]

Fine a boy as he is, the trash won't wash out of him.

Hmp, maybe we need a police force of children .

Now we are both lonely, for entirely different reasons, but it feels the same, doesn't it?

Her sabah bir kedinin enerjisiyle ve iyi niyetlerle dolup taÅŸarak uyan?yor, sonra o iç karart?c? korku bast?r?yordu...

Thus we came to know Dill as a pocket Merlin, whose head teemed with eccentric plans, strange longings, and quaint fancies. But

satu hal yang tidak tunduk pada mayoritas adalah nurani seseorang

Young ladies sketched, did watercolors, wrote short paragraphs of imaginative prose. To Alexandra, there was a distinct and distasteful difference between one who paints and a painter, one who writes and a writer.

There was no doubt about it, I must soon enter this world, where on its surface fragrant ladies rocked slowly, fanned gently, and drank cool water.

Calpurnia was to blame for this. It kept me from driving her crazy on rainy days, I guess. She would set me a writing task by scrawling the alphabet firmly across the top of a tablet, then copying out a chapter of the Bible underneath. If I reproduced her penmanship satisfactorily, she rewarded me with an open-faced sandwich of bread and butter and sugar. In Calpurnia's teaching, there was no sentimentality: I seldom pleased her and she seldom rewarded me. "Everybody