I'm good, but I'm not an angel.

Joe: You don't want me, Sugar. I'm a liar and a phony. A saxophone player. One of those no-goodniks you keep running away from. Sugar: I know, every time. Joe: Sugar, do yourself a favor. Go back to where the millionaires are, the sweet end of the lollipop, not the cole slaw in the face, the old socks and the squeezed-out tube of toothpaste. Sugar: That's right. Pour it on. Talk me out of it. (She grabs him to kiss him.)

Do not ever go back to that from which decided to leave. As much as you did not ask, and how would you not want to own. Having conquered a mountain, begin to attack the other.

In leaving Hollywood and coming to New York, I feel I can be more myself. After all, if I can't be myself, what's the good of being anything at all?

Anything’s possible, almost.

Of the nude pictures: Sure I posed. I needed the money.

I have been told my eating habits are absolutely bizarre. But I don't think so.