“Doesn’t one always think of the past, in a garden with men and women lying under the trees? Aren’t they one’s past, all that remains of it, those men and women, those ghosts lying under the trees … one’s happiness, one’s reality.” p. 1,009 more words
Tags » 20th Century Fiction
Death is like an old whore in a bar–I’ll buy her a drink but I won’t go upstairs with her.
Maycomb welcomed Aunt Alexandra. Miss Maudie Atkinson baked a Lane Cake so loaded with shinny it made me tight; Miss Stephanie Crawford had long visits with Aunt Alexandra, consisting mostly of Miss Stephanie shaking her head and saying, “Uh, uh, uh”. 866 more words