All my forebears worked for a living. My grandfather painted portraits. My mother too. My aunt painted seascapes.

Famous people complain about fame, but they never want to give it back, myself included.

I have a very sensitive nose. I identify with dogs. I understand the world through my nose.

How could one create life with someone who represented death?

What was the point of spending your life with someone you were always looking for ways to decieve?

If you apologize for something that isn't your fault in the first place, you, in effect, confirm their belief that it is your fault.

Beware of the man who praises women's liberation; he is about to quit his job.