There it is, they'd say. Over and over—there it is, my friend, there it is—as if the repetition itself were an act of poise, a balance between crazyand almost crazy, knowing without going, there it is, which meant becool, let it ride, because Oh yeah, man, you can't change what can't bechanged, there it is, there it absolutely and positively and fucking well is.
Shoot all the bluejays you want, if you can hit ’em, but remember it’s a sin to kill a mockingbird. That was the only time I ever heard Atticus say it was a sin to do something, and I asked Miss Maudie about it. Your father’s right, she said. Mockingbirds don’t do one thing but make music for us to enjoy. They don’t eat up people’s gardens, don’t nest in corncribs, they don’t do one thing but sing their hearts out for us. That’s why it’s a sin to kill a mockingbird.