There are three hundred and sixty-four days when you might get un-birthday presents, and only one for birthday presents, you know.
Like many women my age, I am 28 years old.
This is a wonderful way to celebrate an 80th birthday… I wanted to be 65 again, but they wouldn’t let me – Homeland Security.
A gift consists not in what is done or given, but in the intention of the giver or doer.
When I was in elementary school, I used to write letters to myself. I’d write letters and go ‘Dear Kristen-at-16-years-old, happy birthday. I hope you’re doing something.’
People give one another things that can’t be gift wrapped.
I love a card. You know, cards? At birthdays? I collect them.
If I could be doing anything, I’d be laying on the floor in my birthday suit eating junk food and watching something dumb on TV.
For my birthday I got a humidifier and a de-humidifier… I put them in the same room and let them fight it out.
I think, at a child’s birth, if a mother could ask a fairy godmother to endow it with the most useful gift, that gift should be curiosity.
I’m not materialistic. I believe in presents from the heart, like a drawing that a child does.
The worst part about celebrating another birthday is the shock that you’re only as well as you are.
My life is better with every year of living it.
The only thing better than singing is more singing.
The reason I met my husband was because I remembered a friend’s birthday. The moral of the story is: Remember people’s birthdays.
It is lovely, when I forget all birthdays, including my own, to find that somebody remembers me.
My ace in the hole as a human being used to be my capacity for remembering birthdays. I worked at it. Whenever I made a new friend, I made a point of finding out his or her birthday early on, and I would record it in my Filofax calendar.
Youth has no age.
Presents don’t really mean much to me. I don’t want to sound mawkish, but – it was the realization that I have a great many people in my life who really love me, and who I really love.
My biggest hero, Gregory Peck, was my birthday present on April 14, 1973. I just sat and stared at him.
My mom FedExes a red velvet cake she makes from scratch to me every birthday.
We’ll take the cake with the red cherry on top.
Most of us can remember a time when a birthday – especially if it was one’s own – brightened the world as if a second sun has risen.
At my age flowers scare me.
I was forced to live far beyond my years when just a child, now I have reversed the order and I intend to remain young indefinitely.
