My father was an artist. When life was harder and he couldn't get jobs, he painted houses, but he was artistic. When I went to see his work, it was special. Somewhere along the line, I felt I was special. I didn't know why.

The fabrics, whether it be hand-painted prints at the end, or whether it be new knits and stretch fabrics ... sort of make the whole world.

Somewhere along the line, something turned nasty, and I don't know what it was.

Somewhere along the line I decided that if I had something or did something that maybe it wasn't so great after all. I don't believe that anymore, but I realized today that in some areas I still act as though I do. I won't anymore. Smile. Sigh. Smile.

Somewhere along the line you have to trust someone. You've just got to be clever enough to pick someone that's smart and wholesome and worthy - and then just listen to what they say.

We just got into a shooting match with them. Somewhere along the line, we have to realize we can't take anybody lightly.