The Irish Are The Damnedest Race. They

Take My Handkerchief, Scarlett. Never, At Any Crisis Of Your Life, Have I Known You To Have A Handkerchief.

Did You Ever Hear The Oriental Proverb, "the Dogs Bark But The Caravan Passes On"? Let Them Bark, Scarlett. I Fear Nothing Will Stop Your Caravan.

I'm Tired Of Saying, "how Wonderful You Are!" To Fool Men Who Haven't Got One-half The Sense I've Got, And I'm Tired Of Pretending I Don't Know Anything, So Men Can Tell Me Things And Feel Important While They're Doing It.

That's What's Wrong With You. All Your Beaux Have Respected You Too Much, Though God Knows Why, Or They Have Been Too Afraid Of You To Really Do Right By You. The Result Is That You Are Unendurably Uppity. You Should Be Kissed And By Someone Who Knows How.

She Was Darkness And He Was Darkness And There Had Never Been Anything Before This Time, Only Darkness And His Lips Upon Her. She Tried To Speak And His Mouth Was Over Hers Again. Suddenly She Had A Wild Thrill Such As She Had Never Known; Joy, Fear, Madness, Excitement, Surrender To Arms That Were Too Strong, Lips Too Bruising, Fate That Moved Too Fast.