Maybe, in the final analysis, they saw me as something I wasn't and I tried to turn them into something they could never be. I loved them all but maybe I never understood any of them. I don't think they understood me.

I either write the book or sell the jewels. And I'm kinda sentimental about the jewels.

I want to remember it all, the good times and the bad times, the late nights, the boozing, the dancing into dawns, and all the great and not-so-great people I met and loved in those years.

Love is nothing but a pain in the ass

When I'm old and gray, I want to have a house by the sea. And paint. With a lot of wonderful chums, good music, and booze around. And a damn good kitchen to cook in.

God knows I've got so many frailties myself, I ought to be able to understand and forgive them in others. But I don't.

After my screen test, the director clapped his hands gleefully and yelled: “She can't talk! She can't act! She's sensational!”