"Naw, Jem, I think there’s just one kind of folks. Folks.” (...) “That’s what I thought, too,” he said at last, “when I was your age. If there’s just one kind of folks, why can’t they get along with each other? If they’re all alike, why do they go out of their way to despise each other?"
"The sixth grade seemed to please him from the beginning: he went through a brief Egyptian Period that baffled me—he tried to walk flat a great deal, sticking one arm in front of him and one in back of him, putting one foot behind the other. He declared Egyptians walked that way; I said if they did I didn’t see how they got anything done, but Jem said they accomplished more than the Americans ever did, they invented toilet paper and perpetual embalming, and asked where would we be today if they hadn’t? Atticus told me to delete the adjectives and I’d have the facts."
“You know old Mr. Radley was a foot-washing Baptist-” “That’s what you are, ain’t it?” “My shell’s not that hard, child. I’m just a Baptist.” “Don’t you all believe in foot-washing?” “We do. At home in the bathtub.”
Sim, a miúda 'tá muito bem, nomeação merecida. De resto, só para apreciadores de imagens e planos melosos que por si só contam a história, à la Terrence Mallick.
O que eu gosto e filmes "de homens" feitos por mulheres. E do reverso também, agora que penso nisso. Kathryn Bigelow retira tudo o que poderia atirar areia para os olhos, interessando-se pelas tensões inerentes à condição humana em contexto quase desumano.
"Of all days Sunday was the day for formal afternoon visiting: ladies wore corsets, men wore coats, children wore shoes."
"Until I feared I would lose it, I never loved to read. One does not love breathing."
"“Jean Louise, I’ve had about enough of you this morning,” she said. “You’re starting off on the wrong foot in every way, my dear. Hold out your hand.” I thought she was going to spit in it, which was the only reason anybody in Maycomb held out his hand: it was a time-honored method of sealing oral contracts. Wondering what bargain we had made, I turned to the class for an answer, but the class looked back at me in puzzlement."
"Had her conduct been more friendly toward me, I would have felt sorry for her. She was a pretty little thing."
Maycomb was an old town, but it was a tired old town when I first knew it. In rainy weather the streets turned to red slop; grass grew on the sidewalks, the courthouse sagged in the square. Somehow, it was hotter then: a black dog suffered on a summer’s day; bony mules hitched to Hoover carts flicked flies in the sweltering shade of the live oaks on the square. Men’s stiff collars wilted by nine in the morning. Ladies bathed before noon, after their three-o’clock naps, and by nightfall were like soft teacakes with frostings of sweat and sweet talcum.
People moved slowly then. They ambled across the square, shuffled in and out of the stores around it, took their time about everything. A day was twenty-four hours long but seemed longer. There was no hurry, for there was nowhere to go, nothing to buy and no money to buy it with, nothing to see outside the boundaries of Maycomb County. But it was a time of vague optimism for some of the people: Maycomb County had recently been told that it had nothing to fear but fear itself.