I am leaving the town to the invaders: increasingly numerous, mediocre, dirty, badly behaved, shameless tourists.
The myth of Bardot is finished, but Brigitte is me.
Nobody has any security in loving me.
Death was like love, a romantic escape.
I was afraid of not living up to what people expected me to be.
I have been very happy, very rich, very beautiful, much adulated, very famous and very unhappy.