To Kill a Mockingbird Quotes - Page 17 | Just Great DataBase

«Sì, era una signora. Aveva le sue idee, sulle cose, idee molto diverse dalle mie, forse. Figliolo, ti ho detto che anche se tu non avessi perso la testa, quel giorno, ti avrei mandato ugualmente a casa sua. Volevo che tu imparassi una cosa: volevo che tu vedessi cosa è il vero coraggio, tu che credi che sia rappresentato da un uomo col fucile in mano. Aver coraggio significa sapere di essere sconfitti prima di cominciare, e cominciare ugualmente e arrivare sino in fondo, qualsiasi cosa succeda. È raro vincere in questi casi, ma qualche volta succede. La signora Dubose ha vinto. È morta come voleva morire, senza essere schiava né degli uomini né delle cose. Era la persona più coraggiosa che io abbia conosciuto.»

said Atticus, but before I can live with other folks I’ve got to live with myself. The one thing that doesn’t abide by majority rule is a person’s conscience.

Old Mr. Bob Ewell accused him of rapin’ his girl an’ had him arrested an’ put in jail— Mr.

There goes the meanest man ever God blew breath into, murmured Calpurnia, and she spat meditatively into the yard. We

Không còn nghi ngờ về điều ấy, tôi phải nhanh chóng bước vào thế giới này, nơi mà ở ngoài mặt là các bà thơm tho ngồi đu đưa từ tốn, phe phẩy quạt, uống nước mát.Nhưng tôi quen thuộc và thoải mái hơn trong thế giới của bố tôi. Những người giống ông Heck Tate không bẫy ta bằng những câu hỏi vô hại để giễu cợt ta; ngay cả Jem cũng không chê bai gì nhiều trừ khi ta nói điều gì đó ngốc nghếch.

think I’m beginning to understand why Boo Radley’s stayed shut up in the house all this time . . . it’s because he wants to stay inside.

There is not a person in this courtroom who has never told a lie, who has never done an immoral thing, and there is no man living who has never looked upon a woman without desire.

We don’t write in the first grade, we print. You won’t learn to write until you’re in the third grade. Calpurnia

One more thing, gentlemen, before I quit. Thomas Jefferson once said that all men are created equal, a phrase that the Yankees and the distaff side of the Executive branch in Washington are fond of hurling at us. There is a tendency in this year of grace, 1935, for certain people to use this phrase out of context, to satisfy all conditions. The most ridiculous example I can think of is that the people who run public education promote the stupid and idle along with the industrious—because all men are created equal, educators will gravely tell you, the children left behind suffer terrible feelings of inferiority. We know all men are not created equal in the sense some people would have us believe—some people are smarter than others, some people have more opportunity because they’re born with it, some men make more money than others, some ladies make better cakes than others—some people are born gifted beyond the normal scope of most men. But there is one way in this country in which all men are created equal—there is one human institution that makes a pauper the equal of a Rockefeller, the stupid man the equal of an Einstein, and the ignorant man the equal of any college president. That institution, gentlemen, is a court. It can be the Supreme Court of the United States or the humblest J.P. court in the land, or this honorable court which you serve. Our courts have their faults, as does any human

Maycomb was an old town, but it was a tired old town when I first knew it. In rainy weather the streets turned to red slop; grass grew on the sidewalks, the courthouse sagged in the square. Somehow, it was hotter then: a black dog suffered on a summer’s day; bony mules hitched to Hoover carts flicked flies in the sweltering shade of the live oaks on the square. 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 frostings of sweat and sweet talcum.

Let’s try to make him come out, said Dill. I’d like to see what he looks like. Jem said if Dill wanted to get himself killed, all he had to do was go up and knock on the front door.

in Alabama can’t—? I was indignant. I do. I guess it’s to protect our frail ladies from sordid cases like Tom’s. Besides, Atticus grinned, I doubt if we’d ever get a complete case tried—the

simply by the nature of the work, every lawyer gets at least one case in his lifetime that affects him personally. This one’s mine, I guess.

I wish Bob Ewell wouldn't chew tobacco." was all Atticus said about it. According to Miss Stephanie Crawford, however, Atticus was leaving the post office when Mr. Ewell approached him, cursed him, spat on him, and threatened to kill him...Miss Stephanie said Atticus didn't bat an eye, just took out his handkerchief and wiped his face and stood there and let Mr. Ewell call him names wild horses could not bring her to repeat.

Serving on a jury forces a man to make up his mind and declare himself about something. Men don’t like to do that. Sometimes it’s unpleasant.

Besides, nothin’s real scary except in books. Atticus

to us. 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.

Bimba mia, non è mai una vergogna sentirsi buttare addosso una parolaccia. Dimostra soltanto quanto sia meschina la persona che te la dice: a te non può fare alcun male.

Atticus had urged them to accept the state’s generosity in allowing them to plead Guilty to second-degree murder and escape with their lives, but they were Haverfords, in Maycomb County a name synonymous with

around the house to get in, but he run out the front door just ahead of me. I sawed who he was, all right. I was too distracted about Mayella to run after’im. I run in the house and she was lyin’ on the floor squallin’— Then what did you

but things like long life ’n’ good health, ’n’ passin’ six-weeks tests . . .

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. As