People Who Are Very Beautiful Make Their

You Know The Passage Where Scarlett Voices Her Happiness That Her Mother Is Dead, So That She Can't See What A Bad Girl Scarlett Has Become? Well, That's Me.

Fiddle-dee-dee. War, War, War. This War Talk's Spoiling All The Fun At Every Party This Spring. I Get So Bored I Could Scream. Besides, There Isn't Going To Be Any War. . . . If Either Of You Boys Says 'war' Just Once Again, I'll Go In The House And Slam The Door.

I Realize That The Memories I Cherish Most Are Not The First Night Successes, But Of Simple, Everyday Things: Walking Through Our Garden In The Country After Rain; Sitting Outside A Cafe In Provence, Drinking The Vin De Pays; Staying At A Little Hotel In An English Market Town With Larry, In The Early Days After Our Marriage, When He Was Serving In The Fleet Air Arm, And I Was Touring Scotland, So That We Had To Make Long Treks To Spend Weekends Together.

My Husband, Who's The Greatest Actor In The World, Can Do Anything. Look At What He Did In The Critic And Oedipus. In Every Role He Gets-he Did This In Richard The Third-there's Nothing He Can't Do, Nothing. Just Nothing.

When I Come Into The Theatre I Get A Sense Of Security. I Love An Audience. I Love People, And I Act Because I Like Trying To Give Pleasure To People.