“I was just trying to get his attention!" the man protested at the top of his lungs. "If he'da listened, I wouldn'ta had to bash him.”

“[I]t is the wine that leads me on,the wild winethat sets the wisest man to singat the top of his lungs,laugh like a fool – it drives theman to dancing... it eventempts him to blurt out storiesbetter never told.”

“I reckon if he'd wanted us to know it, he'da told us. If he was proud of it, he'da told us." "Maybe it just slipped his mind," I said. "Naw Scout, it's something you wouldn't understand. Atticus is real old, but I wouldn't care if he couldn't do a blessed thing." ... "Atticus is a gentleman, just like me!”

“Oh, and they said I have ADD, too." He lit a cigarette, his first of the day, and took a long, grateful drag. "But listen mate, I once sucked a geezer for twenty minutes to get him off. The clock was just over his shoulder and I timed it. Attention deficit?" He blew out a plume of smoke. "I don't think so.”

“His body presses closer and I realize I'm paying attention to nothing but the dandelions blowing wishes in my lungs.”

“No! He tried to shout out but the water surged into his mouth and lungs choking his cry. Then darkness. And nothingness. Always the nothingness. Thicker this time as if it had fingers pulling him down and pulling the life out of him. Pulling his soul out of him.”