My motto has always been to be true to myself, whether it pleases others or not.
Elizabeth, circa 1960.
© Photofest
As is true for all of us, Elizabeth’s experiences shaped her; but unlike for most of us, her experiences were quite unusual and influenced her sense of self in ways that both strength-ened her and made her vulnerable. A precocious beauty from birth, she grew into a sensuous woman with appetites that enhanced as well as haunted her throughout her life.
The constant exposure was a double-edged sword for the actress. While the publicity was superb for her career, the world’s desire to know the most private details of her life eventually made Elizabeth feel as though she was living under a microscope. In defense, she developed a keen sense of herself, of what she valued, and of what and whom she loved. Her sense of personal humility also helped defeat the hurt feelings that came with public criticism. At the same time, she believed “in mind over matter and doing anything you set your mind on.”
Elizabeth valued her independence and the advantages of power, sometimes to the point of appearing arrogant, which resulted in rumors of her temperamental behavior. Elizabeth’s passionate nature often drove her to flaunt convention. She once famously said, “I know I’m vulgar, but would you have me any other way?” That kind of raw honesty—both with herself and with the public—was, and still is, rare, especially among celebrities.
Elizabeth’s raucous sense of humor was a healthy partner to her honesty and frankness. Though gorgeous and incredibly feminine, Elizabeth could just as easily have been one of the guys, hoisting glasses of Jack Daniels and peppering salty jokes with enough swear words to make a sailor’s head spin. Her most pointed jokes, however, came at her own expense. Turning her jabs inward, she described herself in a number of ways, depending upon the events, the circumstances, and her mood. Never one to shy away from her personal struggles, Elizabeth spoke out about her difficulties with her weight, health, and alcoholism as well as her decision to enter the Betty Ford Clinic for rehabilitation in the 1980s.
Tough yet somewhat philosophical about life, Elizabeth saw in herself an ability to survive, to reach out, and, above all, to enjoy. If life taught her one thing, it was this: “You are who you are. All you can do in this world is help others to be who they are and better themselves and those around them.” In 2000, Elizabeth was awarded the DBE, Dame of the British Empire, by Queen Elizabeth II. Although she was thrilled with this honor, in true Taylor fashion she cracked, “I’ve always been a broad, now I’m a dame.”
On being Elizabeth Taylor
So much to do, so little done, such things to be.
Even as a child, I insisted on determining my own fate.
The Elizabeth Taylor who’s famous, the one of celluloid, really has no depth or meaning to me. It’s a totally superficial working thing, a commodity.
I was always able to sell Elizabeth Taylor.
People who know me well call me Elizabeth. I dislike Liz.
No one is going to play Elizabeth Taylor but Elizabeth Taylor herself.
On acceptance
I find myself much more relaxed and confident and aware just now. I don’t entirely approve of some of the things I’ve done, or am, or have been. But I’m me. God knows I’m me.
On honesty
Even at my worst, I feel I was true to myself.
“Truth is the one thing I’ve never resisted.”
—As Catherine Holly, Suddenly, Last Summer, 1959
On happiness
Tragedy, mistakes, shame for your mistakes cannot leave you untouched.… And I treat the happiness I have now with great respect, great appreciation, because I know how fragile and precarious it is—how easily it can go.
I am more aware that happiness is a composite total, that it is not some sort of sweet, safe heaven. To mean anything, it must include unhappiness. For me to see this is like being given a whole new world.
Happiness wasn’t bestowed on me; I earned it.
Elizabeth at the 64th Academy Awards, 1992.
Jim Smeal/WireImage
On aspiration
I knew that I wanted more in my life than what I had.
It’s not the having, it’s the getting.
On integrity
Even as a kid I never sacrificed my personal integrity for my career.
On knowing your limits
Never let yourself think beyond your means…mental, emotional, or otherwise.
On rehab
It’s like peeling an onion: you shed layers.
I felt for the first time in my life, since I was nine, that I wasn’t being exploited by anyone. I was accepted for myself.
For the first time in my life, I shared a room with a woman!
On resilience
Work and the strong inner core I had developed as a child helped keep my optimism, my romanticism, alive.
My physical recovery, like my mental recovery, stems from a sense of strength, not any frantic need for self-improvement.
I’m convinced the inner strength that rescued me from my destructive slide many years later was forged during those early studio years when I was determined always to maintain control over my personal life regardless of studio demons.
Stubbornness, pride—they’re not particularly attractive attributes, but they are necessary to keep you alive.
[T]he deaths of so many good friends, terrible illnesses, destructive addictions, broken marriages. All things considered, I’m damned lucky to be alive.
I’ve been through it all, baby. I’m Mother Courage. I’ll be dragging my sable coat behind me in old age.
Once you’re up there on the last rung, you can only go down. I don’t want to be pushed off. I want to walk down with all the dignity I can summon—and not with crutches.
“I catch cold even from weather forecasts.”
—As Helen Ellswirth, The Last Time I Saw Paris, 1954
Elizabeth on the set of Giant, Marfa, Texas, 1955.
© 1978 Sid Avery/mptvimages.com
On regret
Let’s face it–a lot of my life has lacked dignity.
On owning up to your mistakes
We all have to participate in our own downfalls, and it doesn’t absolve you to cop a plea by throwing mud on other people. The one who throws the mud is always reduced.
On the importance of friends
You need supporters, not saboteurs.
On becoming a woman
Although I had been eager to grow up, I didn’t perceive myself as no longer being a child until I was sixteen. The turning point was a shooting session with Philippe Halsman. He was the first person to make me look at myself as a woman.…I became intensely aware of my body.
On being a femme fatale
You might say I’m an escape from diapers and dishwashers—like the boy-meets-girl novelettes. I guess there’s that suggestion of the naughty—maybe envy because I’ve had the honesty to do what some people maybe didn’t do at one point in their lives.
On challenges
I believe people are like rocks formed by the weather. We’re formed by experience, by heartache, by grief, by mistakes, by guilt, by shame—all the things that psychiatrists would like to take off your shoulders. But how do you become a full-fledged human being without taking the brunt head-on?
Elizabeth in a still from X, Y and Zee, 1972.
© Columbia Pictures