Ewell Quotes

Atticus sat looking at the floor for a long time. Finally he raised his head. “Scout,” he said, “Mr. Ewell fell on his knife. Can you possibly understand?” Atticus looked like he needed cheering up. I ran to him and hugged him and kissed him with all my might. “Yes sir, I understand,” I reassured him. “Mr. Tate was right.” Atticus disengaged himself and looked at me. “What do you mean?” “Well, it’d be sort of like shootin’ a mockingbird, wouldn’t it?” Atticus put his face in my hair and rubbed it. When he got up and walked across the porch into the shadows, his youthful step had returned. Before he went inside the house, he stopped in front of Boo Radley. “Thank you for my children, Arthur.” he said.

About your writing with you left hand, are you ambidextrous, Mr. Ewell?" "I most positively am not, I can use one hand good as the other. One hand good as the other.

Jackson is gone - not entirely gone; Jackson was there today watching, and Ewell sees his eyes - but you cannot blame him for not being Jackson. You must make do with the tools God has given for the job.

The man had to have some kind of comeback, his kind always does. So if spitting in my face and threatening me saved Mayella Ewell one extra beating, that's something I'll gladly take. He had to take it out on somebody and I'd rather it be me than that houseful of children out there.

Sometimes I imagine we're all like paper stars, folded up and gathered together, each of us convinced that we are glittering and celestial, each of us bent into a shape so we believe we're something we're not.

Atticus had used every tool available to free men to save Tom Robinson, but in the secret courts of men's hearts Atticus had no case. Tom was a dead man the minute Mayella Ewell opened her mouth and screamed.

I may not be much, Mr. Finch, but I'm still sheriff of Maycomb County, and Bob Ewell fell on his knife.

...but in the secret's courts of man's hearts Atticus had no case. Tom was a dead man the minute Mayella Ewell opened her mouth and screamed.

We cried. The bones and dust of our fathers cried with us.

What a pity it is that we've lived the lives we've lived.

Jem: I’ve thought about it a lot lately and I’ve got it figured out. There’s four kinds of folks in Maycomb County. There’s the ordinary kind like us and the neighbors, there’s the kind like the Cunninghams out in the woods, the kind like the Ewells down at the dump, and the Negroes. The thing about it is, our kind of folks don’t like the Cunninghams, the Cunninghams don’t like the Ewells, and the Ewells hate and despise the colored folks. Scout: Naw, Jem, I think there’s just one kind of folks. Folks. Jem: That’s what I thought, too. 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? Scout, I think I’m beginning to understand something. I think I’m beginning to understand why Boo Radley’s stayed shut up in the house all this time… it’s because he wants to stay inside.

There is no escape for me now, I know. Everything is over. I had my run. I was a murderer, a beautiful one, but I lived in a house of cards all my life and now it's all coming back to punish me, and there is no escape.

To begin with, this case should never have come to trial. The state has not produced one iota of medical evidence that the crime Tom Robinson is charged with ever took place... It has relied instead upon the testimony of two witnesses, whose evidence has not only been called into serious question on cross-examination, but has been flatly contradicted by the defendant. Now, there is circumstantial evidence to indicate that Mayella Ewel was beaten - savagely, by someone who led exclusively with his left. And Tom Robinson now sits before you having taken the oath with the only good hand he possesses... his RIGHT. I have nothing but pity in my heart for the chief witness for the State. She is the victim of cruel poverty and ignorance. But my pity does not extend so far as to her putting a man's life at stake, which she has done in an effort to get rid of her own guilt. Now I say "guilt," gentlemen, because it was guilt that motivated her. She's committed no crime - she has merely broken a rigid and time-honored code of our society, a code so severe that whoever breaks it is hounded from our midst as unfit to live with. She must destroy the evidence of her offense. But what was the evidence of her offense? Tom Robinson, a human being. She must put Tom Robinson away from her. Tom Robinson was to her a daily reminder of what she did. Now, what did she do? She tempted a *****. She was white, and she tempted a *****. She did something that, in our society, is unspeakable. She kissed a black man. Not an old uncle, but a strong, young ***** man. No code mattered to her before she broke it, but it came crashing down on her afterwards. The witnesses for the State, with the exception of the sheriff of Maycomb County have presented themselves to you gentlemen, to this court in the cynical confidence that their testimony would not be doubted, confident that you gentlemen would go along with them on the assumption... the evil assumption that all Negroes lie, all Negroes are basically immoral beings, all ***** men are not to be trusted around our women. An assumption that one associates with minds of their caliber, and which is, in itself, gentlemen, a lie, which I do not need to point out to you. And so, a quiet, humble, respectable *****, who has had the unmitigated TEMERITY to feel sorry for a white woman, has had to put his word against TWO white people's! The defendant is not guilty - but somebody in this courtroom is. Now, gentlemen, in this country, our courts are the great levelers. In our courts, all men are created equal. I'm no idealist to believe firmly in the integrity of our courts and of our jury system - that's no ideal to me. That is a living, working reality! Now I am confident that you gentlemen will review, without passion, the evidence that you have heard, come to a decision and restore this man to his family. In the name of GOD, do your duty. In the name of God, believe... Tom Robinson

It was Miss Stephanie’s pleasure to tell us: this morning Mr. Bob Ewell stopped Atticus on the post office corner, spat in his face, and told him he’d get him if it took the rest of his life.

A like N.B. that Ewell ends up inserting under the heading Biker is that every professional tattooist everybody who can remember getting their tattoos remembers getting them from was, from the sound of everybody's general description, a Biker.

For some people a thing may be right, and for others it may be wrong. There is no greater truth to morality -it is merely an opinion.

I kill on order. I am everyone's assassin. I belong to no one but the grim reaper herself.

Mayella Ewell must have been the loneliest person in the world. She was even lonelier than Boo Radley, who had not been out of the house in twenty-five years.

How could this be so, I wondered, as I read Mr. Underwood's editorial. Senseless killing--Tom had been given due process of law to the day of his death; he had been tried openly and convicted by twelve good men and true; my father had fought for him all the way. Then Mr. Underwood's meaning became clear: Atticus had used every tool available to free men to save Tom Robinson, but in the secret courts of men's hearts Atticus had no case. Tom was a dead man the minute Mayella Ewell opened her mouth and screamed.

Atticus had used every tool available to free men to save Tom Robinson, but in the secret courts of men’s hearts Atticus had no case. Tom was a dead man the minute Mayella Ewell opened her mouth and screamed.

Volatile repose. The words just kept occurring to me. It was a perfect description of me -quiet, calm, but on the edge of something vast and dark and dangerous and explosive.

What’s bothering you, son?” Jem came to the point: “Mr. Ewell.” “What has happened?” “Nothing’s happened. We’re scared for you, and we think you oughta do something about him.” Atticus smiled wryly. “Do what? Put him under a peace bond?” “When a man says he’s gonna get you, looks like he means it.” “He meant it when he said it,” said Atticus. “Jem, see if you can stand in Bob Ewell’s shoes a minute. I destroyed his last shred of credibility at that trial, if he had any to begin with. The man had to have some kind of comeback, his kind always does. So if spitting in my face and threatening me saved Mayella Ewell one extra beating, that’s something I’ll gladly take. He had to take it out on somebody and I’d rather it be me than that houseful of children out there. You understand?

I proved him a liar but John made him look like a fool. All the time Ewell was on the stand I couldn’t dare look at John and keep a straight face. John looked at him as if he were a three-legged chicken or a square egg. Don’t tell me judges don’t try to prejudice juries.

But was it worth anything? That's the hopelessness of it. The openness of it. The part of it I can never understand. I am afraid of ambiguity and certainity and permanence and impermanence. And so is everybody else.

As Tom Robinson gave his testimony, it came to me that Mayella Ewell must have been the loneliest person in the world. She was even lonelier than Boo Radley, who had not been out of the house in twenty-five years. When Atticus asked had she any friends, she seemed not to know what he meant, then she thought he was making fun of her. She was as sad, I thought, as what Jem called a mixed child: white people wouldn’t have anything to do with her because she lived among pigs; Negroes wouldn’t have anything to do with her because she was white. She couldn’t live like Mr. Dolphus Raymond, who preferred the company of Negroes, because she didn’t own a riverbank and she wasn’t from a fine old family. Nobody said, “That’s just their way,” about the Ewells. Maycomb gave them Christmas baskets, welfare money, and the back of its hand. Tom Robinson was probably the only person who was ever decent to her. But she said he took advantage of her, and when she stood up she looked at him as if he were dirt beneath her feet.

What a pity it is that we've lived the lives that we've lived.

Freedom is just another word for no one cares.

What does it mean to be me? I don't know. Maybe that's just it. Maybe it doesn't mean anything. Maybe that's the answer. Maybe all I am is emptiness, is nothing.

Love is the most powerful force in the universe and we have the extraordinary ability to give and receive it.

What on earth could Ewell do to me, sister?” “Something furtive,” Aunt Alexandra said. “You may count on that.” “Nobody has much chance to be furtive in Maycomb,” Atticus answered.

Old Mr. Bob Ewell accused him of rapin’ his girl an’ had him arrested an’ put in jail—

Lee made small greetings to the others, saw the sour expression of Jubal Early, Ewell’s division commander,

Atticus said the Ewells had been the disgrace of Maycomb for three generations

Tom [Robinson] era morto nell'attimo stesso in cui Mayella Ewell aveva aperto la bocca e urlato.

Walk Like David...From Sharon Ewell Foster's Novel, Ain't No River

She watched as his lips parted. He drew a breath in and knew she wasn’t the only one feeling that something special that seemed to be humming in the air around them.

One of the elderly members of the class answered her: “He’s one of the Ewells, ma’am,” and I wondered if this explanation would be as unsuccessful as my attempt.

I wish Bob Ewell wouldn’t chew tobacco,” was all Atticus said about it.

I may not be much, Mr. Finch, but I’m still sheriff of Maycomb County and Bob Ewell fell on his knife. Good night, sir.

Mr. Underwood didn’t talk about miscarriages of justice, he was writing so children could understand. Mr. Underwood simply figured it was a sin to kill cripples, be they standing, sitting, or escaping. He likened Tom’s death to the senseless slaughter of songbirds by hunters and children, and Maycomb thought he was trying to write an editorial poetical enough to be reprinted in The Montgomery Advertiser. How could this be so, I wondered, as I read Mr. Underwood’s editorial. Senseless killing—Tom had been given due process of law to the day of his death; he had been tried openly and convicted by twelve good men and true; my father had fought for him all the way. Then Mr. Underwood’s meaning became clear: Atticus had used every tool available to free men to save Tom Robinson, but in the secret courts of men’s hearts Atticus had no case. Tom was a dead man the minute Mayella Ewell opened her mouth and screamed.

There’s four kinds of folks in the world. There’s the ordinary kind like us and the neighbors, there’s the kind like the Cunninghams out in the woods, the kind like the Ewells down at the

Jem, see if you can stand in Bob Ewell's shoes a minute. I destroyed his last shred of credibility at that trial, if he had any to begin with. The man had to have some kind of comeback, his kind always does.

Well, Mr. Finch didn’t act that way to Mayella and old man Ewell when he cross-examined them. The way that man called him ‘boy’ all the time and sneered at him, an’ looked around at the jury every time he answered—

Thereafter, he [Bob Ewell] resumed his regular weekly appearances at the welfare office for his cheque, and received it with no grace amid obscure mutterings that the bastards who thought they ran this town wouldn't permit an honest man to make a living.

Mr Ewell was a veteran of an obscure war; that plus Atticus’s peaceful reaction probably prompted him to inquire, 'Too proud to fight, you nigger ­lovin‘ bastard?' Miss Stephanie said Atticus said, 'No, too old,' put his hands in his pockets and strolled on. Miss Stephanie said you had to hand it to Atticus Finch, he could be right dry sometimes.

Our Father which art in Hendon Harrow be thy name Thy Kingston come, Thy Wimbledon, In Erith as it is in Hendon. Give us this day our Leatherhead And forgive us our bypasses As we forgive those who bypass against us. Lead us not into Thames Ditton But deliver us from Ewell For thine is the Kingston, the Purley and Crawley For Esher and Esher, Crouch End.791

Attitude is a choice. Happiness is a choice. Optimism is a choice. Kindness is a choice. Giving is a choice. Respect is a choice. Whatever choice you make makes you. Choose wisely.” Roy T. Bennett

The Ewells, then, are not bit players in our country’s history. Their history starts in the 1500s, not the 1900s. It derives from British colonial policies dedicated to resettling the poor, decisions that conditioned American notions of class and left a permanent imprint. First known as “waste people,” and later “white trash,” marginalized Americans were stigmatized for their inability to be productive, to own property, or to produce healthy and upwardly mobile children—the sense of uplift on which the American dream is predicated. The American solution to poverty and social backwardness was not what we might expect. Well into the twentieth century, expulsion and even sterilization sounded rational to those who wished to reduce the burden of “loser” people on the larger economy.

I wish Bob Ewell wouldn't chew tobacco." was all Atticus said about it. According to Miss Stephanie Crawford, however, Atticus was leaving the post office when Mr. Ewell approached him, cursed him, spat on him, and threatened to kill him...Miss Stephanie said Atticus didn't bat an eye, just took out his handkerchief and wiped his face and stood there and let Mr. Ewell call him names wild horses could not bring her to repeat.

In a way, losing hope and losing importance are the same thing. It is that youthful vibrance, that eternal longing and believing, that makes youth so important--if you grow old and lose that without finding another way to be important, you will slip away, fall into insignificance, like one sheet of paper. You may be useful, but you will never stand out from the crowd. You cannot look at a piece of paper and say, "I remember you." You never can.

I wish Bob Ewell wouldn’t chew tobacco,” was all Atticus said about it. According to Miss Stephanie Crawford, however, Atticus was leaving the post office when Mr. Ewell approached him, cursed him, spat on him, and threatened to kill him. Miss Stephanie (who, by the time she had told it twice was there and had seen it all—passing by from the Jitney Jungle, she was)—Miss Stephanie said Atticus didn’t bat an eye, just took out his handkerchief and wiped his face and stood there and let Mr. Ewell call him names wild horses could not bring her to repeat. Mr. Ewell was a veteran of an obscure war; that plus Atticus’s peaceful reaction probably prompted him to inquire, “Too proud to fight, you nigger-lovin‘ bastard?” Miss Stephanie said Atticus said, “No, too old,” put his hands in his pockets and strolled on. Miss Stephanie said you had to hand it to Atticus Finch, he could be right dry sometimes. Jem and I didn’t think it entertaining.

Let us leave it at this,” said Atticus dryly. “You, Miss Scout Finch, are the common folk. You must obey the law.” He said that the Ewells were members of an exclusive society made up of Ewells. In certain circumstances the common folk judiciously allowed them certain privileges by the simple method of becoming blind to some of the Ewells’ activities. They didn’t have to go to school, for one thing. Another thing, Mr. Bob Ewell, Burris’s father, was permitted to hunt and trap out of season.

She inhaled him – the smell of his cologne, his shampoo, the scent she recognised as uniquely Adam. She felt him – the strong, steady thump of his heartbeat under her hand as it lay on his chest. And God, she tasted him – he tasted of coffee and desire.

See there, Heck? Thank you from the bottom of my heart, but I don’t want my boy starting out with something like this over his head. Best way to clear the air is to have it all out in the open. Let the county come and bring sandwiches. I don’t want him growing up with a whisper about him, I don’t want anybody saying, ‘Jem Finch . . . his daddy paid a mint to get him out of that.’ Sooner we get this over with the better.” “Mr. Finch,” Mr. Tate said stolidly, “Bob Ewell fell on his knife. He killed himself.

We are all told from the very beginning that we are important. From the moment we can first understand words and perhaps even before then, we are continuously reassured that we have a place in things , that we have a part to play. The human race as a whole is a hopeful species. Of course there are exceptions. Some forgotten children, ones who slip through the cracks. And not everyone is told that they will be important in the same way. Not everyone will be a doctor, or a lawyer. Some people grow up believing that their importance is to love someone fully. Some people grow up believing that their importance is to be loved fully. Perhaps the reason my mailbox was always secret was that the people who visited it came to believe that keeping the secret was a piece of their importance. Maybe I was always given murders because they all thought that contributing to my legend was their importance. But we are all taught, in general, in some way, that someday our worth will be revealed. Someday we will be justified. Someday we will be free.

It’s hard to feel alone when you’re me, sometimes. Sometimes even the houses crowd me in. I can imagine the people in them, still sleeping, or making breakfast, or dressing for work. It’s hard to feel alone when you’re me, when you can imagine the throbbing of blood through each of them and you know the way each of them breaks, like dolls lined up on a shelf.

...To my way of thinkin', Mr. Finch, taking the one man who's done you and this town a great service an' draggin' him with his shy ways into the limelight - to me, that's a sin. It's a sin and I'm not about to have it on my head. If it was any other man it'd be different. But not this man, Mr. Finch.' ... Atticus sat looking at the floor for a long time. Finally he raised his head. 'Scout,' he said, 'Mr. Ewell fell on his knife. Can you possibly understand?' Atticus looking like he needed cheering up. I ran to him and hugged him and kissed him with all my might. 'Yes, sir, I understand,' I reassured him. 'Mr. Tate was right.' Atticus disentangled himself and looked at me. 'What do you mean?' "Well, it'd be sort of like shootin' a mockingbird, wouldn't it?

They were people [Ewells], but they lived like animals. 'They can go to school any time they want to, when they show the faintest of wanting an education,' said Atticus. 'There are ways of keeping them in school buy force, but it's silly to force people like the Ewells into a new environment -' 'If I did not go to school tomorrow, you'd force me to.' 'Let us leave it at this,' said Atticus dryly. 'You, Miss Scout Finch, are of the common folk. You must obey the law'. He said that the Ewells were members of an exclusive society made up of Ewells. In certain circumstances the common folk judiciously allowed them certain privileges by the simple method of becoming blind to some of the Ewells' activities. They didn't have to go to school, for one thing. Another thing, Mr Bob Ewell, Burris's father, was permitted to hunt, and trap out of season.

If you gather up a thousand paper stars, you get a wish, they say. We’re like that. Each of us are convinced we’re special, but we are only worth anything when taken together.

Lee said, "Longstreet proposes that we move our army to the right around the enemy flank and interpose between Meade and Washington." "And vacate this position?" Ewell popped his eyes, slapped the splintered wood. "Leave this town, which we have just captured?" Lee said, with some irritation, "The town is of no importance." Ewell looked to Early. Early said slowly, "To move this entire Corps, in the face of a fortified enemy?" He smiled slightly, with a touch of the disdain for which he was rapidly becoming notorious.

ewell had known she was innocent about the ways of the world, and even about human nature — but downright

- Mr Finch ne s'est pas conduit de la sorte avec Mayella ni le père Ewell, pendant leur contre-interrogatoire. Cette façon que l'autre avait de l'appeler "Mon gars" tout le temps, de se moquer de lui de manière méprisante, de prendre le jury à témoin chaque fois qu'il répondait... - Ecoute, Dill, après tout, ce n'est jamais qu'un Noir. - Je m'en fiche pas mal ! C'est pas juste, voilà ! C'est pas juste de les traiter comme ça ! Personne n'a besoin de parler comme ça... ça me rend malade !

In verifying Longstreet’s claim that no orders were given to him that evening, Alexander wrote explicitly in Military Memoirs, “[Johnson] had been ordered by Ewell to attack at daylight, under the impression that Longstreet would attack at the same hour. In fact, however, Longstreet received no orders during the night, and the troops required for his attack could not be gotten into their positions before noon.

Non sappiamo se sia stato Bob Ewell a tagliare quella rete o chi altro," disse Atticus, "ma possiamo immaginarlo. Io ho dimostrato che era un bugiardo, ma John lo ha fatto passare per scemo. Tutto il tempo che Ewell è rimasto sul banco dei testimoni non ho mai avuto il coraggio di guardare John, altrimenti non sarei mai potuto rimanere serio. John lo fissava come se fosse stato un pollo a tre gambe o un uovo quadrato. Non mi vengano a dire che i giudici non cercano di influenzare le giurie..." concluse Atticus, ridendo.

There's no judgment. It's clear she's been punished enough. And it was basically the same all over, after all, Out There. And the fact that it was so good to hear her, so good that even Tiny Ewell and Kate Gompert and the rest of the worst of them all sat still and listened without blinking, looking not just at the speaker's face but into it, helps force Gately to remember all over again what a tragic adventure this is, that none of them signed up for.

Stuart’s attack on East Petersburg, just north of Lancaster, distracted Meade’s staff from Ewell and Hill crossing the Susquehanna at Shenks Ferry and Holtwood far to his south, with both of their Confederate Corps.

Brigadier General John Buford commanded the 1st Cavalry Division, Army of the Potomac, prior to and during the battle of Gettysburg. This much is accepted by all historians and written accounts of the battle. On most other facts, disagreement begins and on specific facts, varies greatly. The purpose of this paper is to examine the facts as presented in different accounts, discover the differences, and try to determine what is important in terms of the lessons to be learned from the battle. In most accounts, General Buford receives, at least, a great deal of credit for determining the importance of the terrain just south of Gettysburg, for determining that the meeting of the two great armies will take place there, and for deciding that the ground was important enough to hold until the Army of the Potomac can move forward and occupy it: “The significant contribution which Buford’s cavalry made to the final checkmate of the Confederates at Gettysburg has never received adequate recognition.. .. .. with not over 4,000 cavalrymen he delayed the advance of Hill’s corps from Cashtown and Ewell’s corps from Heidlersburg, causing the leading divisions of both to effect premature deployments.. .. . .. . It is not too much to say that Buford’s cavalry was the major instrument that caused the battle to be fought at Gettysburg rather than elsewhere.. .

Love is the most powerful force in the universe we have the ability power to give and receive it.

The next day was a Sunday, a day on which Jackson would rather not fight, but perhaps he felt he was being helped by a higher power, after all the recent rain, which had seen the Union pursuit bogged down on the muddy roads. Ewell

Stepping back from her, Adam ran the scarf through his fingers, continuing to hold her gaze steadily while trying to decide whether he wanted to blindfold her or bind her with it. “Undress for me, Willow.

2. She inhaled him – the smell of his cologne, his shampoo, the scent she recognised as uniquely Adam. She felt him – the strong, steady thump of his heartbeat under her hand as it lay on his chest. And God, she tasted him – he tasted of coffee and desire.

A strong, square jaw gave him a rather formidable appearance, but he had surprisingly full, soft-looking lips that went a long way to soften his face when he smiled. Intelligent eyes the colour of polished amber looked out from under straight eyebrows. And those eyes were focused squarely on her. Despite the dire circumstances, she couldn’t help but feel a flutter of awareness in her stomach.

He took a step closer to get a better look and felt somewhat dazed – a bit like he’d walked into a brick wall.

Keller sat in his hotel room with his purchases on the desk in front of him, pleased with what he’d acquired and the bargain prices he’d paid, but a little bit anxious at having spent so much money. He had dinner again that night with McEwell, and confided some of what he was feeling. “I know what you mean,” McEwell said, “and I’ve been there myself. I remember the first time I paid over a thousand dollars for a single stamp.” “It’s a milestone.” “Well, it was for me. And I said to the dealer, ‘You know, that’s a lot of money.’ And he said, “Well, it is, but you’re only going to buy that stamp once.’” “I never thought of it that way,” Keller said. —HIT MAN