I do not recall spending long hours in front of a mirror loving my reflection.

I remember the 1940s as a time when we were united in a way known only to that generation. We belonged to a common cause-the war.

Trying to make order out of my life was like trying to pick up a jellyfish.

The Howard Hughes I knew began to change after his plane crash in 1941.

My departure from Hollywood was described as a walk-out. No one understood that I was cracking up.

I was plunged into what was known as the debutante social whirl. This was one of the ways fathers justified their own hard work and sacrifices.

I existed in a world that never is - the prison of the mind.