Don’t kill doves in the garden. You kill one and the others won’t come.
Ce n’est pas toujours la fleur la plus belle
Qui sent le meilleur,
Ni l’oiseau montant sur la plus grande aile
Le plus haut rameur.
She's fading away
away from this world
drifting like a feather
she's not like the other girls
she lives in the clouds
and talks to the birds
hopeless little one
she's not like the other girls
I know.
— How old were you when you got your first gun, Atticus?
— Thirteen or fourteen.
— I remember when my daddy gave me that gun. He told me that I should never point 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'd suppose the temptation to go after birds would be too much. That I could shoot all the blue jays I wanted if I could hit them. But to remember it was a sin to kill a mockingbird.
— Why?
— I reckon because mockingbirds don't do anything but make music for us to enjoy. They don't eat people's gardens, don't nest in the corncribs. They don't do one thing, but just sing their hearts out for us.