i would've done anything to make you happy.i think you knew that.i think this is why you knew you had to let me go.

I wish to live to 150 years old, but the day I die, I wish it to be with a cigarette in one hand and a glass of whiskey in the other.

If your dream only includes you, it's too small.

When I'm old and gray, I want to have a house by the sea. And paint. With a lot of wonderful chums, good music, and booze around. And a damn good kitchen to cook in.

Be passionate and move forward with gusto every single hour of every single day until you reach your goal.

Women's liberation as a movement makes some valid points. But in the final analysis, it doesn't matter who wears the pants - as long as there's money in the pockets.

Figure out what you need to do to be the heroine of your own story.

If I had my life to live over again, I'd live it the same way. Maybe a few changes here or there, but nothing special. The truth is, honey, I've enjoyed my life. I've had a hell of a good time.

It’s a pity nobody believes in simple lust anymore.

I do everything for a reason. Most of the time the reason is money.

Although no one believes me, I have always been a country girl and still have a country girl's values

Indoctrination is not just demeaning to the human conscience, it is lethal for the flourishing psychology of the hungry, young mind.

The most amazing thing about little children ... was their fantastic adaptability.

Look at those they call unfortunate and at a closer view, you'll find many of them are unwise.

Michele Bachmann says God made the earthquake and hurricane to punish us. Untrue - he made Michele Bachmann for that.

Chaos happens. Let's make better use of it.

You want stealth? Be a rogue in 'World of Warcraft'.

I personally made lots of mistakes during my 10-12 years as a newspaper editor. Some of which I felt were big mistakes I have tried to address.

Sometimes you got to specifically go out of your way to get into trouble. It's called fun.

Dreams always end before you kill the last person.

Solitude, seeming a sanctuary, proves a grave; a sepulchre in which the living lie, where all good qualities grow sick and die