— You know guys from the suburbs have no mercy.
— That’s what I want. No mercy.
There is always something infinitely mean about other people's tragedies.
Similarly we are seldom sorry for those who need and crave our pity—we reserve this for those who, by other means, make us exercise the abstract function of pity.
— You know I'm sorry for you, Scarlett.
— Sorry for me?
— Yes, sorry for you because you throw away hapiness with both hands and reach out for something that'll never make you happy.
— I don't know what you're talking about.
— If you were free and Melly were dead and you had you precious Ashley, do you think you'd be happy with him? You'd never know him, never even understand his mind... anymore than you understand anything, except money.
It is hard for those who have once been mentally afflicted to be sorry for those who are well.
I must be cruel, only to be kind.
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