The fathers, if they got me alone, would try to kiss and fondle me. I hated it.

I'm terrified of men these days. If someone asked me out now, I don't know what I'd say, how I'd react. But I couldn't go through with it, not at all. I suppose I've been terrified of them all along.

One way of reading my life is that I have been in constant search for a father.

They wanted to hear about the sex, of course. But not the rest; no one wanted to hear the rest.

If I don't tell it all now, the story in the history books will always be imperfect and that would be wrong.

Even a criminal has the right to a new life, but they made sure I did not have that. They just didn't stop calling me a prostitute for ever and ever and ever and ever.

I like to think that people live on in other people's memories.