Margaret Mitchell
Margaret Mitchell
Margaret Munnerlyn Mitchellwas an American author and journalist. One novel by Mitchell was published during her lifetime, the American Civil War-era novel, Gone with the Wind, for which she won the National Book Award for Most Distinguished Novel of 1936 and the Pulitzer Prize for Fiction in 1937. In more recent years, a collection of Mitchell's girlhood writings and a novella she wrote as a teenager, Lost Laysen, have been published. A collection of articles written by Mitchell for The...
NationalityAmerican
ProfessionNovelist
Date of Birth8 November 1900
CityAtlanta, GA
CountryUnited States of America
She saw in his eyes defeat of her wild dreams, her mad desires.
Longing hearts could only stand so much longing.
His voice stopped and they looked for a long quiet moment into each other's eyes and between them lay the sunny lost youth that they had so unthinkingly shared.
Somehow the bright beauty had gone from April afternoon and from her heart as well and the sad sweetness of remembering was as bitter as gall.
It was not often that she was alone like this and she did not like it. When she was alone she had to think and, these days, thoughts were not so pleasant.
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.
She couldn't survey the wreck of the world with an air of casual unconcern.
You should be kissed and by someone who knows how.
And apologies, once postponed, become harder and harder to make, and finally impossible.
They were always like two people talking to each other in different languages. But she loved him so much, when he withdrew as he had now done, it was like the warm sun going down and leaving her in chilly twilight dews.
Say you’ll marry me when I come back or, before God, I won’t go. I’ll stay around here and play a guitar under your window every night and sing at the top of my voice and compromise you, so you’ll have to marry me to save your reputation.
Burdens are for shoulders strong enough to carry them.
Men and women, they were beautiful and wild, all a little violent under their pleasant ways and only a little tamed.
Perhaps - I want the old days back again and they'll never come back, and I am haunted by the memory of them and of the world falling about my ears.