Frances

Mr. Bebe:
Come along with me, Fanny.

Frances Farmer:
Frances. You know, I'm not the cookbook.

Mr. Bebe:
You see, you've got to change that name.

Arresting Sergeant:
Your name?

Frances Farmer:
You jerks drag me down here in the middle of the night and you don't know who the hell I am?

Arresting Sergeant:
Your name lady?

Frances Farmer:
Frances Elena Farmer. Want me to spell it?

Arresting Sergeant:
And your address?

Frances Farmer:
Put me down as a vag, vagrant, vagabond. What is this, a joke? It's a joke? Assault and battery? Huh? I barely touched that b*tch.

Arresting Sergeant:
Occupation?

Frances Farmer:
Cocksucker.

Lillian Farmer:
When you get well, you're going to thank me.

Frances Farmer:
No, you are not talking now! You listen. Now you can send me away and pretend I'm crazy and you can pretend I'm still your little girl who can't take care of herself. But Lillian, there is one thing that you cannot pretend any more and that is that I love you. Because I don't. I can't. Not after what you've done to me. Because I am still me. I've been trying real hard all this time to be me. And you, little sister - you haven't been any help at all.