I don't think people will turn against me, at least not by themselves.

I like people. The public scares me, but people I trust.

We human beings are strange creatures and still reserve the right to think for ourselves.

I was never used to being happy, so that wasn't something I ever took for granted.

You see, I was brought up differently from the average American child, because the average child is brought up expecting to be happy.

You see, the trouble is a sex symbol becomes a thing.

I just hate to be a thing. I'm nobody's thing. Fame has a special burden,

which I might as well state here and now. I don't mind being burden with being glamorous and sexual,

but what goes with it can be a burden. I'm nobody's thing. I'm nobody's thing. I'm nobody's thing.

I'm nobody's thing.

I'm nobody's thing.

I'm nobody's thing.

Let's talk about her house first. So this was a property she had purchased for $75,000 in Brentwood, Los Angeles.

It was near the beach, it had plenty of room.

It was, you know, a lovely home for a superstar. Okay, so who have we got there?

Well, we've got Mrs. Murray, the housekeeper, Marilyn herself. We've got Dr. Greenson,

and often there's a handyman who makes an appearance to do the odd job here and there and various people

actually would come and go from that house. The housekeeper had her own room so sometimes

she would stay overnight. There were spare bedrooms for friends to stay over, her hairdresser

and her stylist were very often there even though she had fired them and then rehired them.

They stuck, stayed with her, stayed loyal, and especially now she needed them more than ever

because a picture had appeared in the newspaper two weeks before she died of Marilyn with scraggy nails and bleached,

...