I was a complete brat but was an angel with my mother. I used to be perfectly behaved, and my mother used to be like... 'Really, are you badly behaved with other people?' I was like, 'No, not at all.' But the minute she used to leave the room, I was a brat.

When I was 13 or 14, my mother used to gift me books that I was dying to read. Those are my most memorable birthday gifts.

You know you've become a brat when you have a room you like at the Bristol in Paris.

I don't really care what other people see me as. I seriously don't. I've always worried about what my opinion of myself is. And I've always thought that it carries most weight. So I don't care what other people's opinion of me is or how they view whatever I've said or done.

I am mean; I'm nasty at times. I don't feel like talking to people at times. When I am in a bad mood and have had a really awful day, don't come in my face because I am not tolerant and I am not a goddess; I can't handle it after a point. I am going to get up, and I am going to scream, and I am going to say bad things to you.

Why did he do that? It wasn't just him, it was blocked perfectly. If you give him some room to run, he's going to run.