Without Valentine's Day, February would be. . . well, January.
Cancer is a disease that is mysterious, headstrong and makes its own rules. And mine, to this date, is incurable.
There are no words to express how sad and devastated I am. I have lost one of my dearest friends, and the industry has lost a giant.
Cancer is my own private war. The strain, the nausea, the fever take turns challenging my strength, my mind and my spirit.
I'm a private person. I'm shy about people knowing things.
Marriages that last are with people who do not live in Los Angeles.
It's much easier to go through something and deal with it without being under a microscope. . . It was stressful. I was terrified getting the chemo. It's not pleasant. And the radiation is not pleasant.
The sea is endless when you are in a rowboat.
After divorce of Pompeia in 62 BC I feel that members of my family should never be suspected of breaking the law. -Meos tam suspicione quam crimine iudico carere oportere
I have little faith in the theory that organized killing is the best prelude to peace.
Things need not have happened to be true. Tales and adventures are the shadow truths that will endure when mere facts are dust and ashes and forgotten.