I read a comment that made me think I should stop singing for a while. And I didn't want to stop singing, because it was the only thing I loved. At first I thought, "Maybe I'll get better and eventually please the person who wrote about my singing." But then I thought, "I probably will never please this person. I should just do what pleases me."

I'm the last of the truly tacky women. I do trash with flash and sleaze with ease.

Even if the whole human race dies off because we keep fighting and killing each other and being heartless, the planet will take care of itself. Eventually, after millions of years, it will cleanse itself, and new life forms, maybe better ones, will come. Meanwhile, we'll have gotten exactly what we deserved: annihilation.

The outside world doesn't have a lot to offer. You have to make your own heaven in your own home.

Writing a book is not as tough as it is to haul thirty-five people around the country and sweat like a horse five nights a week.

Sometimes my brain goes on CD shuffle. You know, you put a bunch of CD's on and hit play and random things come out.

I'm so glad to be back in New York. Los Angeles can be so cold, so cruel after you've been-what's the word?-oh yes: 'fired.'