I love days where I just work uninterrupted from 6am to 10pm, stopping just for a little exercise. These are my favorite days, and always have been. The more of these 16-hour workdays I have, the happier I am.

A family dinner. Candlelight. Lots of laughs.

Health, life, everything around me on a daily basis, being grateful for life—every day is a blessing.

The very short instant right after accomplishing something very challenging.

I haven’t done it yet.

Feeling you want someone else’s welfare as much and sometimes more than your own.

Being a salesgirl in a baby shop where the others said things like, “He’s Jewish, but she’s American.” Also, after college, being a waitress in London, and trying to make change in the old money of shillings and pence.

I would love to have a good memory. I’m at an age when remembering something right away is as good as an orgasm.

Dying just a millisecond before I was about to say something I really wanted the people I love to hear.

Since hostile people still call me a former Playboy Bunny, even at 82, I probably shouldn’t have done that in my youth, even to write an exposé. And since a couple of times they’ve also referred to me as a former CIA agent, because I went to two Soviet-era communist youth festivals, I probably shouldn’t have done that, either. Yet if I hadn’t done both, I might have judged other people by such empty symbols, too.