When I Lose My Temper, Honey, You

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.

I Dealt With Men Who Had Tempers, And Who Could Get Violent-lord Knows How I Had To Defend Myself Against Howard Hughes And Frank Sinatra, And From Artie Shaw's Verbal Abuse. But George [c. Scott] Was A Different Category Of Animal When He Got Drunk. He'd Break Into My Hotel Room, Which He Did In Italy, London And At The Beverly Hills Hotel, Attack Me To Where I Was Frightened For My Life, And Scream, 'why Won't You Marry Me?' Well, I Would Never Marry A Man Who Couldn't Control His Liquor. Me, I'm A Happy Drunk. I Laugh, I Dance. I Certainly Don't Break Bottles And Threaten To Kill.

I Do Everything For A Reason. Most Of The Time The Reason Is Money.

The Truth Is That The Only Time I'm Happy Is When I'm Doing Absolutely Nothing. I Don't Understand People Who Like To Work And Talk About It Like It Was Some Sort Of Goddamn Duty. Doing Nothing Feel Like Floating On Warm Water To Me. Delightful, Perfect.

Maybe, In The Final Analysis, They Saw Me As Something I Wasn't And I Tried To Turn Them Into Something They Could Never Be. I Loved Them All But Maybe I Never Understood Any Of Them. I Don't Think They Understood Me.