“I admire some of the people on the screen today, but most of them look like everybody else. In our days we had individuality. Pictures were more sophisticated. All this nudity is too excessive and it is getting very boring. It will be a shame if it upsets people so much that it brings on the need for censorship. I hate censorship. In the cinema there`s no mystery. No privacy. And no sex either. Most of the sex I`ve seen on the screen looks like an expression of hostility towards sex.”
Scarlett O’Hara was not beautiful, but men seldom realized it when caught by her charm as the Tarleton twins were. In her face were too sharply blended the delicate features of her mother, a Coast aristocrat of French descent, and the heavy ones of her florid Irish father. But it was an arresting face, pointed of chin, square of jaw. Her eyes were pale green without a touch of hazel, starred with bristly black lashes and slightly tilted at the ends. Above them, her thick black brows slanted upward, cutting a startling oblique line in her magnolia-white skin—that skin so prized by Southern women and so carefully guarded with bonnets, veils and mittens against hot Georgia suns.
Gone with the Wind by Margaret Mitchell
I’ll never forget this series. Once, when I complained that actors and actresses always fell into cliché poses, Jimmy Cagney suggested that I should get them to act, shoot motion pictures, and then select stills from the film. So, when Grace began playing with a pillow, I grabbed the next best thing - my 35mm motor-drive - and started shooting. Grace was so myopic she couldn’t see ten feet in front of her, so she followed the sound of my voice as I “directed” her. “Beautiful,” I said over and over again. The more the camera hummed, the more she reacted. “Beautiful. Beautiful.” - Howell Conant
