“I’m not worried about dying. I consult with God, my maker. And I don’t have a lot of problems to work out. I’m pretty squared anyway.”

I know I’m vulgar, but would you have me any other way?

I call upon you to draw from the depths of your being – to prove that we are a human race, to prove that our love outweighs our need to hate, that our compassion is more compelling than our need to blame.

I believe in mind over matter and doing anything you set your mind on.

My mother says I didn’t open my eyes for eight days after I was born, but when I did, the first thing I saw was an engagement ring. I was hooked.

Marriage is a great institution.

I will love Michael Jackson forever.

I never face the day without perfume.

Thanks Darling for the beautiful flowers and all the prayers. Now can you just get my puppy past security?

I would totally lose myself in the music and be a gypsy. I would go wherever I wanted to in my head – wherever the music took me. My body followed.

I don’t love acting; I love chocolate.

When people say, ‘She’s got everything’, I’ve got one answer – I haven’t had tomorrow.

I hate myself on the screen. I want to die. My voice is either too high or too gravelly. I want to dive under the carpet. I’d love to be tall and willowy. I’m short.

When you’re older, you’ll appreciate the advantages of sleeping alone.

So much is said with the electricity of the eyes, the intensity of a whisper. Less is more.

I don’t pretend to be an ordinary housewife.

It’s amazing the gymnastics you can do when you don’t want to do something. How you can force yourself against all the forces of nature. I threw myself backward.

The way is shut. It was made by those who are Dead, and the Dead keep it, until the time comes. The way is shut.

Every existing thing is born without reason, prolongs itself out of weakness, and dies by chance.

Alas, it is when we are beginning to leave this mortal body that it most offends us!

Better a good journalist than a poor assassin.

When passion dies friendship hovers round our flesh like flies.

He is always becoming, and if it were not for the contingency of death, he would never end.

Every consciousness pursues the death of the other.

One always dies too soon – or too late. And yet one’s whole life is complete at that moment, with a line drawn neatly under it, ready for the summing up. You are — your life, and nothing else.