I have to tell you, I'm not like Demi Moore, where the tears trickle prettily down my cheeks. My whole face screws up and it's like, Oh please, get a room.

Everyone said that if you want to be a real actor, go to New York. If you want to sell out, go to L.A. And I thought, "I want to sell out!"

I'm not apologizing for what I did. I'm apologizing for what I didn't do.

I would rather be loved by somebody who respected me.

Im wearing an outfit that looks just like a cupcake ... a pink frothy blouse, low cut ... everything a little inappropriately girlie ... Pink, pink, lot of pink, ... Out of Practice.

That Hollywood thing, where everybody hugs and kisses everybody else-I always stiffen. It's an assumed familiarity. It's phony.

I have my cards read every time I pass a tarot-reader booth. I would be so embarrassed to have one of those 900 numbers appear on my phone bill, because I don't know how I would explain it to my business manager. It would almost be like saying, Okay, I'm white trash.