atticus

Art takes time__onet grew his gardensbefore he painted them.

She was afraid of heightsbut she was much more afraid of never flying.

There will alwaysa glimmer in thosewho have been through the dark.

True artcomes from flying with the madnessso close you burn your eyelashes.

Sometimes I want a quiet lifeother timesI want to go a little bit fucking Gatsby.

She sat in her perfect house, with her perfect husband, wishing that her perfect life would end.

I will follow you, my love, to the edge of all our days,to our very last tomorrows.

Brushing a girl__ hair behind her earonce a daywill solve more problemsthan all thosetherapists and drugs.

One day I__l paint the perfect sunset-- if I can only find the words.

You and I will be lost and found a thousand times along this cobbled road of us.

Don't worry_ you see, to some you are magic.

What a strange world. We trade our days for things.

Drugs to mehave always beena pretty girl with a sly smilebeckoning mewith a finger down the dark path of a fork in the road.

She found herselfover a long and treacherous roadand the more treacherous the road became,the more of herselfshe found.

I worry there is something broken in our generation,there are too many sad eyes on happy faces.

I hope to arrive at my death, late, in love, and a little drunk._

Our mother died when I was two, so I never felt her absence. She was a Graham from Montgomery; Atticus met her when he was first elected to the state legislature. He was middle-aged then, she was fifteen years his junior. Jem was the product of their first year of marriage; four years later I was born, and two years later our mother died from a sudden heart attack. They said it ran in her family. I did not miss her, but I think Jem did. He remembered her clearly, and sometimes in the middle of a game he would sigh at length, then go off and play by himself behind the car-house. When he was like that, I knew better than to bother him.

You confused your father with God. You never saw him as a man with a man__ heart, and a man__ failings _ I__l grant you it may have been hard to see, he makes so few mistakes, but he makes __m like all of us. You were an emotional cripple, leaning on him, getting answers from him, assuming that your answers would always be his answers.