Front Porch Step Quotes & Sayings

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. — Harper Lee

I shut the car door as quietly as possible and quickly maneuvered to the front porch, climbing the steps two at a time, and rushing to the door. I knocked. Loudly. Several times. And then I waited.

My heart was lodged in my throat so I tried to swallow past it. I couldn't show weakness. I needed to be tough.

I can be tough. I nodded, shifting from one foot to the other. I can be real tough. You can't be a sissy and make fifty loaves of bread in a day. That's a lot of kneading. I'm tough as nails. I'm basically the Rocky Balboa of bakers. I'm unstoppable! Aint nobody gunna -

The door swung open. I jumped back a half step. My voice failed me. — Penny Reid

[T]he final step in becoming an urban farmer is the naming of your farm, even if your name is simply for the few pots on your front porch. Creating your name helps to build a sense of place within your neighborhood as well as pride in your accomplishments. By naming your farm you give it a life of its own. Be creative and come up with a name that inspires and makes people smile, like my friend Laura's "Wish We Had Acres," the Fairy Tale inspired "Jack's Bean Stalk" or my "Urban Farm. — Greg Peterson

Officer Downing pulls into the driveway next to Mom's car. Of course she's home. I don't know why I even wasted hope that she wouldn't be. Maybe because I'm eighteen, which means they don't bother calling your parents to the scene. But even if I'm not a victim of the law, I'm a victim of the small-town grapevine. A victim of flashing blue lights, whispered scorn, and heads shaking in disapproval. And, boy, do I feel like a victim, because not only is she home, she's standing on the front porch, arms crossed. Waiting.
Officer Downing opens the back door to the low-budget cop car that smells like vinyl, BO, and humiliation. I step out. He hands me my backpack, which Rachel was so kind to bring out when we dropped Rayna off at Galen's house. She was also kind enough not to kill me for showing up at her house with a cop. — Anna Banks