One of the cruelest judgments sustained against me is that I have spoken out as a recovered alcoholic to stimulate my acting career.
Young Jimmy Dean fell off the world as suddenly as he had come.
I'd never been in play long enough for the flowers to die in the dressing room.
At awards time, The Exorcist was nominated in 11 categories, everybody but the janitor was up for an Oscar. There was no category for what I did.
With two leftover husbands to account for, my wicked soul has just about shriveled and died.
When I am rehearsing for a play, I try to read nothing that might distract my concentration from the work in progress.
There are zillions of people who say that alcoholism is a disease, but not many of them believe it.
The great people I've met always have time for the niceties.
Only a certain breed of actor should ever even try to work for Orson Welles. I'm glad I'm one of that breed.
Neiman-Marcus is one thing, and the Dallas Cowboys are another.
My second marriage had a lot to do with alcohol.
My only true harmony lies deep within my soul, wherever that is. I know that somehow I am in tune with the universe.
If I have to climb to heaven on a ladder, I shall decline the invitation.
I'd stand in line for Confession with old people and little kids, and as the line moved up, I knew when I got into the box that I would lie! Again!
So many people have really wanted to die. They seem ashamed to say so. I think it would help if they would say so.