She'd made life poignant for the Irish. The terror she inspired gave peace its serenity; the pain she caused gave health its lustre; her failure to love made me grateful for my ability to do so, and I realized, far too late, that though I never did or could have loved her as she might have wished, I should have loved her more.

Yer a good lad, Atticus, mowin’ me lawn and killin’ what Brits come around.

When he said to give him the sword, I don’t think he meant for you to stick it in his guts.

The mourning of a loved one never ends with a funeral. It comes back every so often, like a stage performer eager for a curtain call and expects you to be loud about it....I gave it all the lung capacity I had.