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The worst hotels are any with a bad bed. I stayed in a hotel where they left cards telling me my enjoyment was of paramount importance. I should have written, 'Nice rooms, crap beds.'

I had a very difficult relationship with my mother. She used to wake me up in the middle of the night if I wasn't sleeping straight and was messing up the sheets. Now when I stay in hotels I sleep so straight they don't even think I've used the bed.

I'm a bed monster.

For some reason, I wrote about the bed we slept in when I was a kid. It was a half-acre of misery, that bed, sagging in the middle, red hair sticking out of the mattress, the spring gone and the fleas leaping all over the place.

The summer after I got divorced, my children asked to sleep in my bed again. It would be the first time we'd shared a bed since they were infants.

I feel fortunate I have this amazing relationship with so many people in America, because I was in their homes at a very private time of day. They probably might have still had their robe on and their slippers and haven't made the beds.

I have lived and slept in the same bed with English countesses and Prussian farm women... no woman has excited passions among women more than I have.

I don't like sleeping in a bed.

On one occasion I shared a bed with about seven other people, but we were all having a party overnight.