“Yep, my daddy was an undependable drunk. But he'd never missed any of my organized games, concerts, plays, or picnics. He may not have loved me perfectly, but he loved me as well as he could. (189)”

“He hadn't loved me well in the end, but he'd loved me well when it mattered.”

“He never could have loved me, or he would not have resigned me so willingly”

“For all the times he'd fucked me, he'd never fucked me like this. Because this wasn't fucking.It was in his eyes, in his touch, in his kiss. It was in his heartbeat, pulsing against my chest and inside me. It was how he moaned my name, it was how he murmured and pleaded, and it was how his fingers dug into my skin. It wasn't fucking. It was emotion and pure need…He was making love to me.”

“He loved me and I loved him, but the number in my head was telling me that he was going to die today. And the numbers had never been wrong.”

“I remember when my daddy gave me that gun. He told me that I should never point it at anything in the house; and that he'd rather I'd shoot at tin cans in the backyard. But he said that sooner or later he supposed the temptation to go after birds would be too much, and that I could shoot all the blue jays I wanted - if I could hit 'em; but to remember it was a sin to kill a mockingbird.”