“[The Toaster]A silver-scaled dragon with jaws flaming redsits at my elbow and toasts my bread.I hand him fat slices, then one by onehe hands them back when he sees they are done.”

“I handed him my heart, soul, and spirit on a silver platter and he crushed them into a million pieces.”

“The toaster (lacking real bread) would pretend to make two crispy slices of toast. Or, if the day seemed special in some way, it would toast an imaginary English muffin.”

“But the toaster was quite satisfied with itself, thank you. Though it knew from magazines that there were toasters who could toast four slices at a time, it didn't think that the master, who lived alone and seemed to have few friends, would have wanted a toaster of such institutional proportions. With toast, it's quality that matters, not quantity.”

“When they finally saw him, why he hadn't done any of those things . . . Atticus, he was real nice. . . .” His hands were under my chin, pulling up the cover, tucking it around me. “Most people are, Scout, when you finally see them.”

“A man touched me: his hand... my thigh.I touched him too: my fist... his jaw.”