I think of my body as a side effect of my mind. Like a thought I had once that manifested itself-- Oops! Oh no! Manifested. Look at this. Now we have to buy clothes and everything.

I didn't confide in men. Well, I didn't confide in anyone.

I shot through my twenties like a luminous thread through a dark needle, blazing toward my destination: Nowhere.

In the Fifties, my parents were known as 'America's sweethearts'. Their pictures graced the covers of all the newspapers. They were the Brad Pitt and Jennifer Aniston of their day.

Then I overdosed at 28, at which point I began to accept the bipolar diagnosis.

I had to shoot shotguns for The Blues Brothers. But I don't like that stuff. Too butch for me.

I'd like to wear my old [cinnamon buns] hairstyle again - but with white hair. I think that would be funny.