I feel like 45. I don't look bad for someone my age, with my history of illnesses and operations and all those anesthetics. When they knock you out, it gives you time to catch up on your beauty sleep.

I adore wearing gems, but not because they are mine. You can't possess radiance, you can only admire it.

I will love Michael Jackson forever.

No matter what happens, I'm loud, noisy, earthy and ready for much more living.

I fell off my pink cloud with a thud.

I'm loud and I'm vulgar, and I wear the pants in the house because somebody's got to, but I am not a monster. I'm not.

There's no deodorant like success.