Clara Bow Poster

Quotes (12)

  • The more I see of men, the more I like dogs.
  • [on director Victor Fleming] Of all the men I've known, there was a man.
  • [when asked what "It" was, replying in her perfect Brooklyn accent] I ain't real sure.
  • We had individuality. We did as we pleased. We stayed up late. We dressed the way we wanted. I used to whiz down Sunset Boulevard in my open Kissel, with several red Chow dogs to match my hair. Today, they're sensible and end up with better health. But we had more fun.
  • When I decided to leave the screen, I told Ben Schulberg [producer B.P. Schulberg] I would not finish my contract or ever work again for anyone. He yelled and threatened to sue me and I said, "Go ahead, Ben, sue me. I've fought a thief and a blackmailer and, if after such heartaches I am forced to fight you and the studio, so be it".
  • People used to say that I had a feeling of closeness, a great warmth of loving everybody, that they could tell me their troubles.
  • [on the death of her grandfather when she was five] The first night, as he lay in his coffin in the dining room, I crept out of my bed and lay down on the floor beside him because I had the feeling that he might be lonely. My father found me there in the morning, almost frozen. I said, 'Hush, you mustn't wake grandfather. He's sleeping.'
  • [on her poverty-stricken childhood in Brooklyn] No one wanted me in the first place. Often I was lonesome, frightened and miserable. I never had a doll in my life. I never had any clothes, and lots of times didn't have anything to eat. We just lived, and that'a about all. Girls shunned me because I was so poorly dressed - the worst looking kid on the street. I decided that girls weren't any good, and being lonely and needing child friends, cast my lot with the neighborhood boys. I became a regular tomboy - played baseball, football and learned to box.
  • [asked for her thoughts on Marilyn Monroe after Monroe's death] A sex symbol is a heavy load to carry when one is tired, hurt and bewildered.
  • Wally Reid was my first sweetheart, though I never saw him except on the screen. He was Sir Galahad in all his glory. I worshiped Mary Pickford. How kind and gentle and loving she was. Maybe there were people like that in the world.
  • But I was a good runner, I could beat most of the boys and I could pitch. When they played baseball in the evening in the streets, I was always chosen first and I pitched. I don't think I had very good clothes, they were rougher and older than the other girls', and the girls used to say snippy things to me and shout "carrot-top" and things like that. Outwardly, it seemed as though I were just a rough, strong little tomboy. But tragedy seemed to mark me early for its own. I had one little playmate, though, to whom I was devoted. He was a little boy who lived in the same house with me. I think his name was Johnny. He was several years younger than I was and I used to take him to school with me, and fight the boys if they bothered him. I could lick any boy my size. My right was quite famous. My right arm was developed from pitching so much. One day after school I was alone in our house upstairs when I heard a terrible noise downstairs. For a minute if curdled my blood, then I ran down wildly. Johnny had gone too near the fire and his clothes had caught and were burning and he was screaming with pain and fright. His mother was standing there, wringing her hands and screaming, too, like a crazy woman and not doing a thing. When I came tearing in Johnny screamed "Clara, Clara, help me." He ran over and jumped into my arms. I had just enough sense to know what to do. I laid him on the floor and rolled him up in the carpet and tried the best I could to put the fire out. The poor little fellow struggled and screamed all the time. I shouted for his mother to get a doctor and she ran out. I stayed alone with Johnny, holding him in my arms rolled up in the carpet and trying to soothe him and quiet him. I was crying all the time myself and pretty nearly crazy, too. I seemed to feel the fire on my own flesh, and every time he cried out it seemed to me I couldn't bear it any more. The doctor came. He couldn't do anything. The little fellow died in my arms. He was just - just all burned up, that's all. I tried to pray then, begging God not to let him suffer like that. The last thing he said was "Clara- Clara-." When I knew he was dead I went upstairs and cried for hours. I have never cried but once like that since. That was when my mother died. It seemed to me that life was just too terrible to be borne. When my mother came in I was asleep. I had cried myself into complete exhaustion, and I was ill for several weeks. The shock had been too much. For months I used to wake up and think I heard that little fellow calling "Clara-Clara-help me." Things like that are terrible for a little child to go through - I was only about eight or nine, I guess.
  • I live in my little bungalow in Beverly Hills with my father. I work very, very hard. I like young people and gaiety, and have a lot of both around me whenever I have time. I like to swim and ride and play tennis. I have a few close friends, but not many acquaintances. I don't have time. I am happy - as happy as anyone can be who believes that life isn't quite to be trusted. I give everything I can to my pictures and the rest to being young and trying to make my father happy, and filling up the gaps in my education. I don't think I'm very different from any other girl - except that I work harder and have suffered more. And I have red hair. All in all, I guess I'm just Clara Bow. And Clara Bow is just what life made her. That's what I've tried to tell you in this story. I'm terribly grateful and still a little incredulous of my success. It seems like a dream. But - I'm willing to work just as hard as ever to go on having it. Beyond that, I haven't yet evolved any plans or desires. After all, I'm still only twenty-two. That isn't so very old, is it?