Again, As I Had Often Met It

Where Are Your Pants, Son?

Mutual Defiance Made Them Alike.

There Was Nowhere To Go, But I Turned To Go And Met Atticus's Vest Front. I Buried My Head In It And Listened To The Small Internal Noises That Went On Behind The Light Blue Cloth: His Watch Ticking, The Faint Crackle Of His Starched Shirt, The Soft Sound Of His Breathing. 'your Stomach's Growling,' I Said. 'i Know It,' He Said.

Until I Feared I Would Lose It, I Never Loved To Read. One Does Not Love Breathing.

Wordsworth Was Right When He Said That We Trail Clouds Of Glory As We Come Into The World, That We Are Born With A Divine Sense Of Perception. As We Grow Older, The World Closes In On Us, And We Gradually Lose The Freshness Of Viewpoint That We Had As Children. That Is Why I Think Children Should Get To Know This Country While They Are Young.