I'm one girl who doesn't want to be a star.

Make up your mind. You hate him and you build this shrine to him. He died over ten years ago and you've been holding your own private wake ever since. You can't be a star in a cemetery... Because he was a drunk, you're a drunk. Because he loved women, you're a tramp. But you forget one thing. He did it with style.

Don't waste any sleep over me, Mr. Shields. The last time I tried to commit suicide was six months ago. There won't be any next time...People who knew my father give me extra work and a line to say now and then. I drink what I want, sleep where I want. Who knows? Some day, I may even get married to a nice, upright assistant assistant.

And make him miserable for the rest of his life because you're a Lorrison, haunted, born to live by make-believe. Look at you. You're acting now, playing the doomed daughter of the great man. Well, let me tell you something. The acting isn't good enough. It's a cheap performance of a bit player, not a star. And that's all it'll ever be until you can pull yourself out of this tomb. Until you can see people as they really are, yourself as you really are, until you can do this to your father's picture, [he draws a mustache on a profiled picture of her father], and laugh the way he would have laughed. That's not a God talking, Georgia, that's only a man.