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When I "write" the story of my life, I will also title it ME. This was a gem of a good/bad book.

Chuckle worthy Passages:

Oh, I meant to tell you. I was standing on my head the other day and I got to thinking how probably unusual it is for someone of my age to do this.

Everyone came and we made seventy-five dollars to buy a Victrola for the Navajo Indians.

Putnam was a poet. He was sort of medium-sized and had a very handsome head.

Any kind of English or WASP part I had a good chance for in those days.

And the half-boy, half-woman had been born.

It was agony. We had to do it over and over again because of sound. Agony. I finally threw up and we had to try again the next day.

It was wartime, 1942, and it was also rush hour.

He was a man of considerable reputation with the ladies despite his rather sinister looks.

It was thrilling. And thrilling is what we can do with ourselves if we really try.

They represented his dream--a child's dream--that once-upon-a-time dream. It's come true--the prince--the princess. I'm riding a great white stallion.

So we got the credit and George didn't. I wonder if I'm right. I think so.

I think this weakness went a long way toward ruining Howard's life and making him into an oddball.

It was she who told me how when certain guests would come to dinner they would set the table with the cheap china and glassware and when the dinner was over she (Beatrice) would break the cheap china and glassware and throw it away. I don't quite understand what this prived. I once said to Howard, "I think that if you picked your friends more carefully you wouldn't have to break so much china."

I look back at our relationship and I think that we were both cool customers.

You won't do anything else if you decide that you are going to resurrect and rearrange a human being.

I'm like the Statue of Liberty to a lot of people.

Why this is so I do not know.

I've made forty-three pictures. Naturally I'm adorable in all of them

He was his true self--a real cockney--slightly plump and full of beans.

Another report about S.T.: "How can I do a picture with a woman who has dirt under her fingernails and who is of ambiguous sexuality and always wears pants?"

John Wayne is the hero of the thirties and forties and most of the fifties. Before the creeps came creeping in.

They both thought it was fun. It is fun. But is it?

Well that's the end of the story about refurbishing the south bank of the swamp.

They disgorged their passengers--they drove on.

For once I had sensible luggage. You had two rather large suitcases, as I recall. I had one Vuitton suitcase and two sort of duffel bags--also Vuitton.

But for some trivial reason I didn't like the name Joey. What kind of insecurity could so dominate a man that he could imagine that it meant any more than that? I meant exactly that--that I didn't like the name.

I had a wonderful sleep, although the waterfall outside the window made a terrible noise.

I have a happy nature--I like the rain--I like the sun--the heat--the cold--the mountains, the sea--the flowers, the--Well, I like life and I've been so lucky. Why shouldn't I be happy? I don't lock doors. I don't hold grudges. Really the only thing I'm not mad about is wind. I find it disturbing. I mean wind in the heavens.