— But what about us?
— We'll always have Paris.
"You're saving cocoons." That's what he'd say. "Corsets, in a way, you can never fit again. So why save them? You can't really prove you were ever young. Pictures? No, they lie. You're not the picture."
"Affidavits?"
"No, my dear, you're not the dates, or the ink, or the paper. You're not these trunks of junk and dust. You're only you, here, now— the present you."
People become stronger because they have things they cannot forget.
Scarlett, look at me. I love you more, than I've ever loved any woman. And I've waited longer for you than any woman. A soldier of the South loves you. Wants your arms around him. Wants to carry the memory of your kisses into battle. Never mind about loving me. You're a woman sending a soldier to his death with a beautiful memory. Scarlett, kiss me.
It always amazes me the way the senses work in connection to memory. I mean, this stew is simply an amalgam of ingredients. Taken separately, these ingredients alone don't remind me of anything. Hmm. Not very much at all. But, in this precise combination, the smell of this meal instantly — it brings me back to my childhood.