All my stepchildren carried the burden of my fame. Sometimes they would read terrible things about me, and I'd worry about whether it would hurt them. I would tell them: 'Don't hide these things from me. I'd rather you ask me these things straight out, and I'll answer all your questions.'

When Clark Gable died, I cried for 2 days straight. I couldn't eat or sleep.

I wish I knew why I am so anguished.

The public doesn't mind people living together without being married, providing they don't overdo it.

If fame goes by, so long, I've had you, fame. If it goes by, I've always known it was fickle. So at least it's something I experience, but that's not where I live.

What good am I? I can't have kids. I can't cook. I've been divorced three times. Who would want me?

Ever notice how 'What the hell' is always the right answer?