I always thought my days spent in darkness [as a child she had cataracts and was unable to see for nearly four years] gave me a very special sensitivity. Much later, when I really wanted to hear, really 'see' a song, I'd close my eyes, and when I wanted to bring it out of the very depths of myself, out of my guts, out of my belly, when the song had to come from far away, I'd close my eyes.

I was hungry. I was cold. But I was also free. Free not to get up in the morning, not to go to bed at night, free to get drunk if I liked, to dream... to hope.

My conservatory is in the streets. My intelligence is instinct.

When he takes me in his arms, and speaks to me softly, I see the world through rose-colored glasses.

I'm sure that I've already been dead.

I want to die young. I think it's awful to get old, and sickness is ugly.

I'm the only one who still believes in Santa Claus!