Quotes About Childhood

I think I'll be a clown when I get grown-said Dill. Jem and I stopped in our tracks. Yes sir, a clown. he said. There ain't one thing in this world I can do about folks except laugh, so I'm gonna join the circus and laugh my head off.

When Jean Louise and her brother were children, Atticus had occasional drawn them a sharp distinction between mere scatology and blasphemy. The one he could abide. He hated dragging God into it.

I was crude, but I didn't cuss her." When Jean Louise and her brother were children, Atticus had occasionally drawn them a sharp distinction between mere scatology and blasphemy. The one he could abide; he hated dragging God into it.

Aunty said no, that's where we got our small hands and feet.

I—it's like this, Scout," he muttered. "Atticus ain't ever whipped me since I can remember. I wanta keep it that way.

She was always ordering me out of the kitchen, asking me why I couldn't behave as well as Jem when she knew he was older, and calling me home when I wasn't ready to come. Our battles were epic and one-sided. Calpurnia always won, mainly because Atticus always took her side. She had been with us ever since Jem was born, and I had felt her tyrannical presence as long as I could remember.

Thanks, but Scout'll run me down later." His use of her childhood name crashed on her ears. Don't you ever call me that again. You who called me Scout are dead and in your grave.

went to the back yard and found Jem plugging away at a tin can, which seemed stupid with all the bluejays around.

Jem, I ain't ever heard of a nigger snowman,' I said.

The boy stood up. He was the filthiest human I had ever seen. His neck was dark gray, the backs of his hands were rusty, and his fingernails were black deep into the quick.

I never looked forward more to anything in my life. Hours of wintertime had found me in the tree-house looking over at the school yard, spying on multitudes of children through a two-power telescope Jem had given me, learning their games, following Jem's red jacket through wriggling circles of blind man's buff, secretly sharing their misfortunes and minor victories. I longed to join them.

Jem and I found our father satisfactory: he played with us, read to us, and treated us with courteous detachment.

Do you defend niggers, Atticus?' I asked him that evening. 'Of course I do. Don't say nigger, Scout. That's common.' ''s what everybody at schools says.' 'From now on it'll be everybody less one -' 'Well if you don't want me to grow up talkin' that way, wh ydo you send me to school?

Dill's eyes flickered at Jem, and Jem looked at the floor. Then he rose and broke the remaining code of our childhood. He went out of the room and down the hall. "Atticus," his voice was distant, "can you come here a minute, sir?

Talking to Francis gave me the sensation of settling slowly to the bottom of the ocean. He was the most boring child I ever met.

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

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.

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

Ben neredeyse alt? ya??ma, Jem de yakla??k on ya??na geldiÄŸinde, yazlar? özgürlük alan?m?z?n s?n?rlar? (Calpurnia'n?n sesinin duyulma mesafesine göre) çizilmiÅŸti.

He declined to let us take our air rifles to the Landing (I had already begun to think of shooting Francis)

Because you're children and you can understand it.

I was bored, so I began a letter to Dill. Miss Caroline caught me writing and told me to tell my father to stop teaching me. "Besides," she said. "We don't write in the first grade, we print. You won't learn to write until you're in the third grade.

It had never fully occurred to Jean Louise that she was a girl: her life had been one of reckless, pummeling activity; fighting, football, climbing, keeping up with Jem, and besting anyone her own age in any contest requiring physical prowess.

He could add and subtract faster than lightning, but he preferred his own twilight world, a world where babies slept, waiting to be gathered like morning lilies.