After All, Tomorrow Is Another Day.

I Have A Passionate Desire For Personal Privacy. I Want To Stand Before The World, For Good Or Bad, On The Book I Wrote, Not On What I Say In Letters To Friends, Not On My Husband And My Home Life, The Way I Dress, My Likes And Dislikes, Et Cetera. My Book Belongs To Anyone Who Has The Price, But Nothing Of Me Belongs To The Public.

All Wars Are Sacred To Those Who Have To Fight Them. If The People Who Started Wars Didn't Make Them Sacred, Who Would Be Foolish Enough To Fight?

I Was Never One To Patiently Pick Up Broken Fragments And Glue Them Together Again And Tell Myself That The Mended Whole Was As Good As New. What Is Broken Is Broken - And I'd Rather Remember It As It Was At Its Best Than Mend It And See The Broken Places As Long As I Lived.

[t]he Merciful Adjustment Which Nature Makes When What Cannot Be Cured Must Be Endured.

Scarlett's Mind Went Back Through The Years To The Still Hot Noon At Tara When Grey Smoke Curled Above A Blue-clad Body And Melanie Stood At The Top Of The Stairs With Charles' Sabre In Her Hand. Scarlett Remembered That She Had Thought At The Time: 'how Silly! Melly Couldn't Even Heft That Sword!' But Now She Knew That Had The Necessity Arisen, Melanie Would Have Charged Down Those Stairs And Killed The Yankee - Or Been Killed Herself.