I Was Sent Successively To

A Lucky Thing Eva Peron Was. She Died At 32. I'm Already 45.

I Know I Am Right For Scarlett. I Can Convince Mr. Selznick.

But I Remember The Morning After The Mask Of Virtue-which Is The First Play I Did At The West End-that Some Critics Saw Fit To Be As Foolish As To Say That I Was A Great Actress. And I Thought, That Was A Foolish, Wicked Thing To Say, Because It Put Such An Onus And Such A Responsibility Onto Me, Which I Simply Wasn't Able To Carry. And It Took Me Years To Learn Enough To Live Up To What They Said-for Those First Notices. I Find It So Stupid. I Remember The Critic Very Well, And Have Never Forgiven Him.

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.

Classical Plays Require More Imagination And More General Training To Be Able To Do. That's Why I Like Playing Shakespeare Better Than Anything Else.