Margaret Mitchell, Via col vento (1936)
Con lo spirito del suo popolo che non riconosce la sconfitta anche quando se la trova di fronte, rialzò il mento. Avrebbe riconquistato Rhett. Sapeva di poterlo fare. Non era mai esistito un uomo che ella non potesse avere, se lo voleva. "Penserò a tutto questo domani, a Tara. Sarò più forte, allora. Domani penserò al modo di riconquistarlo. Dopo tutto, domani è un altro giorno."
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.
With the spirit of her people who would not know defeat, even when it stared them in the face, she raised her chin. She could get Rhett back. She knew she could. There had never been a man she couldn’t get, once she set her mind upon him.
“I’ll think of it all tomorrow, at Tara. I can stand it then. Tomorrow, I’ll think of some way to get him back. After all, tomorrow is another day.”