“The out-of-work actor wears out more than shoe leather. The very sensibilities that make him an artist are shattered by the disregard he is shown as a human being.”

There may be a heaven, but if Joan Crawford is there, I’m not going.

I was thought to be “stuck up.” I wasn’t. I was just sure of myself.

Oh, don’t let’s ask for the moon. We’ve already got the stars.

I didn’t forget your breakfast. I didn’t bring your breakfast. Because you didn’t eat your din-din.

A sure way to lose happiness, I found, is to want it at the expense of everything else.

One can make more enemies as a female with a brain, I think.

You know what I’m going to have on my gravestone? ‘She did it the hard way.’

If everyone likes you, you’re not doing it right.

Everybody has a heart. Except some people.

If everybody likes you, you are not a very interesting person.

You’ve got to know someone pretty well to hate them.

Good actors I’ve worked with all started out making faces in a mirror, and you keep making faces all your life.

I’ve always liked men better than women.

You should never say bad things about the dead, you should only say good, Joan Crawford is dead. Good.

Pleasure of love lasts but a moment, Pain of love lasts a lifetime.

There are new words now that excuse everybody. Give me the good old days of heroes and villains, the people you can bravo or hiss. There was a truth to them that all the slick credulity of today cannot touch.