All I can say is that when millions of plastic dolls of you are being sold each day and an equal number of teenage boys are masturbating over you each night, it's bound to do something screwy to your psyche.

Mistakes are a drag, because you get in the area of regret and self-pity.

My mom had the breakdown for the family, and I went into therapy for all of us.

From here on out, there's just reality. I think that's what maturity is: a stoic response to endless reality. But then, what do I know?

Never love for me, only obsession.

I never really saw [my father] at all when I was growing up.

Don't you see? We've become smart enough to justify stupid behavior. Like, 'I'm angry at him and I didn't express it, so I turned my anger inward and now it's depression, so in order to feel good again, what I should do is call him and express my anger.' It's like, if we can make it sound smart enough, we're allowed to do stupid things.