I lived the stuff that Jackie Collins writes about.

I was shaped by my mistakes.

I’m addicted to cosmetic surgery!

I can wrap my legs around my neck.

In my day, I, being the first supermodel, I hawked everything.

My first job was for a blue jean company as a sitting model. I posed for 15 minutes and made $50. It was 1976.

Mothers don’t let your daughters grow up to be models unless you’re present.

People identify with me – everyone does – African American women, Caucasian women, they all identify with me because I’m ethnic.

I have a very vivid imagination.

If you think I’m over-the-top, I am.

As the saying goes, I want to be the best-looking corpse there is.

Self-help books are for the birds. Self-help groups are where it’s at.

I’ve been on the cover of every magazine in the world.

I have to wake up and drink chamomile tea to slow down.

I find the light and work it, work it, work it.

I borrow bits from everyone.

I grew up studying ballet; I grew up honing my craft.

I’ve been the queen of dysfunction and made every mistake one can make.

Every six months I fly to Dallas to get botox and I also get collagen injections.

Money is like hormones. It’s just how you feel on any given day.

Follow sound business trends, not fashion trends.

Without gay men, I am nothing.

I lived the stuff that Jackie Collins writes about.

I grew up in an abusive home and was told on a daily basis by my father that I would never amount to anything and that I looked like a boy.

I was hot and I knew it and it went to my head.

Beauty opened all the doors; it got me things I didn’t even know I wanted, and things I certainly didn’t deserve.

And I will never, ever respond to anybody – man, woman, vegetable, or mineral – who tells me to keep my mouth shut.

Celebrity is hawking make-up, cars, everything; it’s shifted.

What’s my motto when it comes to money? Don’t put so much emphasis on it!

I wish I’d gotten sober at a younger age.

But as a young model, I never felt as beautiful as I looked.

I was lusted after walking down the streets of New York.

I’m aiming to become the white Oprah.

I’m keeping my acerbic wit completely fueled.

But you see, that’s the gilded prison of fashion. We’re riding in private jets, and meantime I was so incredibly, painfully sad and lonely.

I got a book deal without even turning in one shred of a writing sample.

Photo shoots for underage girls are like letting an ant walk around with honey.

Everyone steals from something or someone.

I’m able to move like no one else you’ve ever seen in front of a camera.

I had to fight like hell to convince people I was beautiful in my own Polish half-breed way.