Every time I am in danger of believing the glamour of my own press, some incident inevitably brings me back to earth.
Shootouts are not gunfights of honor, they're gang wars and racial riots.
In the beginning, my mother humored me when I told her I wanted to be a reporter.
When I was a little girl in the 1950s, it would not have been possible for me to say, I want to be an anchorwoman when I grow up.
For every two minutes of glamour, there are eight hours of hard work.
The idea of stardom was difficult to grasp. It was like being schizophrenic; there was her, the woman on television, and the real me.