I am 23, the year of the iron birthday, the gate of darkness. I am ill.
I have a strong memory of the day I was told that my father had a weak heart and that he had to go to the hospital. He died when I was nine years old on the same day that Franklin Roosevelt died; it was his 45th birthday.
I often imagine what it would be like if my father were still here to mark his 100th birthday, if Alzheimer’s hadn’t clawed away years, possibilities, hopes. What would he think of all the commemorations and celebrations?
My mother always bought our birthday gifts.
I decided if you’re lucky enough to be alive, you should use each birthday to celebrate what your life is about.
I’m scared of heights, but for my 30th birthday I’m going to try and get someone to kick me out of a plane and do a parachute jump.
On its self-titled debut, Happy Birthday flirts with several flavors of love, and ‘Girls FM’ is where taste gets confusing.
I was on the train; I did play, but I also played in bars, in the streets, at birthday parties for people who discovered me on the train.
I love having my birthday at Australia Zoo.
In 1980, shortly before my 11th birthday, I wrote my first essay in English.
My daughter learned to say, ‘They’re not even trying to cover!’ before her second birthday.
I was exceptionally opinionated as a teenager, never afraid to rant and ruin a birthday party or cinema trip.
I was a fortnight away from my 16th birthday when the fabled 2005 Ashes series ended. My hero-worship throughout it belonged to Ian Bell – though I don’t think I’ve ever made that abundantly clear to him.
I have had fans make me the big picture collages of the photo books; I have had fans send me birthday cakes… sing to me on my voicemail. I have had fans flash me. I have had older fans give me their bras and underwear onstage.
Everyone who reaches a milestone birthday in their lives has an opportunity to truly appreciate the fact that presumably we have acquired all the gifts that maturity and age can bring us.
March 15th is the most important day of the year. It’s my birthday.
I believe that at least 70 percent of parenting goes to the mother. In our house, I’m the one who knows about all the school stuff, helps with the homework, organizes the play dates, and remembers the birthday parties.
I was concerned about being 40 and for my 40th birthday my wish was to go see Cher, and I got to meet her.
There’s video footage of my 10th birthday where I’m wearing, like, a little pink T-shirt. Then my dad comes in brandishing a copy of ‘Eraserhead,’ going, ‘Look what we’ve got for tonight!’
Citizens, thank you for all your birthday wishes. I am 88 years old today and still lucky to live in the greatest city in the world.
I started with Katie, a doll I got on eBay on my 10th birthday. I don’t use her anymore. I’ve got a new Katie now, a real ventriloquist’s puppet.
It’s kind of ironic that the only Super Bowl I’ve been to as a fan was when the Rams played the Titans. I was at that game. My grandpa, when he was still involved in the NFL, he got me tickets for my birthday.
When I was 13, my parents bought me a mini snooker set for my birthday. From the moment I first held a cue in my hands, I was transfixed.
Mattresses! Beautiful! Let’s go buy a couple of mattresses. Give ‘em to people for their birthday.
Brilliantly lit from stem to stern, she looked like a sagging birthday cake.
