Ultimately it boils down to the same thing all relationships boil down to: eating humble pie. I sometimes eat quite a lot. But, however bitter it might taste, it's the best pie. It's on the menu constantly for both parties.

Art keeps me alive. I've obviously been devastated or heartbroken all my life, since my mother's death.

I've read a couple of reviews that say I'm getting harder in my old age but I don't think that's true at all. I think that you can't help but become a little cynical about life and love but I'm still a romantic, I'm still an idealist.

I have the most perfect belly button. When I stick my fingers in it, I feel a nerve in the center of my body shoot up my spine.

I don't think about my old stuff. I just move forward.

If those civil rights groups are going into those orphanages and offering to look after those children, then they have every right to make a stink about it. But they're not. They're not offering a solution.

If I have to be the person who opens the door for women to believe and understand and embrace the idea that they can be sexual and look good and be as relevant in their 50s or their 60s as they were in their 20s, then so be it.