“She imagined herself both queen and slave, dominatrix and victim. In her imagination she was making love with men of all skin colors--white, black, yellow--with homosexuals and beggars. She was anyone's, and anyone could do anything to her. She had one, two, three orgasms, one after another. She imagined everything she had never imagined before, and she gave herself to all that was most base and most pure.”

“After all, she herself had done the very worst thing imaginable. And she was a good person. Wasn’t she?”

“She didn’t believe there was anything like perfect, fairytale love. Most people were flawed and prone to mistakes. She thought herself a romantic but treated love with the same practicality she did most things. They’d had fall-outs and misunderstandings but she’d never been free to be herself like she was with Edward. She couldn’t imagine being with another person after him.”

“She told me once that when she was with me she felt like the beautiful woman she never thought she'd be. I can't imagine what could ever make her think she wasn't beautiful enough to anyone, least of all me. She's the beautiful one. The most beautiful one in the world to me.”

“She had a wild imagination, and sometimes she could fool herself.”

“She had defeated loneliness by bringing to life the books that peopled her imagination and making friends of them.With devastating clarity she saw that her ability was not only a panacea for unhappiness. It was her lifeblood. Part of the very fiber of her being. And here, in Hollywood, it could be fulfilled. She didn't want to be an actress. She was one. All she had to do to be a star was to be true to herself.”