I'm tired of saying "How wonderful you are!" to fool men, who haven't got one half sense I've got.

She was as forthright and simple as the winds that blew over Tara and the yellow river that wound around it.

Ser eyes met his, hers naked with pleading, his remote as mountain lakes under gray skies. She saw in them defeat of her wild dream, her mad desires.

[Yankees] are pretty much like southerners except with worse manners, of course, and terrible accents.

There ain't nothin' from the outside can lick any of us.

It had been so long since she had seen him and she had lived on memories until they were worn thin.

It's a curse - this not wanting to look on naked realities. Until the war, life was never more real to me than a shadow show on a curtain. And I preferred it so. I do not like the outlines of things to be too sharp. I like them gently blurred, a little hazy.