I needed to be accepted, not humored. I intended to act.

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

I loved to eat. For all of Hollywood's considerable rewards, I was hungry for most of those twenty years.

I used to annoy my father by telling him how much I felt luck was with me.

I had been introduced to psychotherapy, in which the doctors let you talk, talk, talk, until you find the source of your problem or find another doctor.

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 was not cut out to be a rebel.