“I was skinny as a rail and had high cheekbones and a very interesting face – or so I was told.”

Disco was like the celebration of music through dance and my God! When you heard the music sometimes it was like, if you don’t get up and dance, you aren’t human!

I always thought that feminine, softer side was just too vulnerable to put out there, because then it’s like you’re opening up a door for everybody to come in, and you don’t know who’s going to come in that door.

It was very painful combing my hair. My grand-uncle was a Pentecostal bishop, and he was very strict: our hair couldn’t be permed or straightened. So I just cut it all off.

I don’t take the English press seriously at all because all they want is dirt. I hate them.

When I perform on stage I become those male bullies, those dominators from my childhood. That’s probably why it’s so scary, because they scared me.

Survival is my primary instinct…it’s out of my control. It’s stronger than me. It’s an outside force, a voice that says ‘do this for your life or it will devour you.’

In the Seventies and Eighties we all had our fun, and now and then we went really too far. But, ultimately, it required a certain amount of clear thinking, a lot of hard work and good make-up to be accepted as a freak.

I have just as much woman in me as I have man. It’s just a matter of channeling the energy into which way you use it.

I’ve turned down millions of dollars to go on reality TV. It’s an absolute no-go.

Forget health clinics and gyms. Sex is the best cure. One good night of sex and your problems are gone.

Growing up in Jamaica, the Pentecostal church wasn’t that fiery thing you might think. It was very British, very proper. Hymns. No dancing. Very quiet. Very fundamental.

My husband used to shout at my mother, ‘What is wrong with your daughter? I’m married to a man.’

I’m not a rock star, I’m a soft person.

When you become such a strong personality in music, it’s hard for people to accept you as a different character.

I just go with the flow, I follow the yellow brick road. I don’t know where it’s going to lead me, but I follow it.

I wear my furs all the time. I wear like three different ones in a day.

I was so skinny, they gave me the nickname stechetto – the stick. I was tall, thin, ugly and dark like an Arab girl. I looked strange. All eyes. No flesh on my bones.

I genuinely do think that skin does have a lot to do with genetics. I was blessed. You should see my mom and grandma – it’s unfair!

My body has forgotten what my own warmth feels like and the ice on my skin has frost bitten all those who have tried to hold me.

The truth is your skin was my skin and shedding you is not an easy process.

The old skin has to be shed before the new one can come.

Look how wildflowers bloom from your skin. So why hold back those tears when your soil needs them?

I’m cool. I don’t need to be skinny. I like to be strong.

I am mystic bones and a curious heart. Pain and joy and stardust skin. A sacred soul container. Time and space and matter and illusion. Expansion and contraction. A breathing universe.