Richard Griffiths Quotes

I don't want someone photographing my cellulite - I can't take it!

I was really skinny and I had greasy hair and I was knock-kneed. There's something still in me that's like that, and I catch myself, you know when you're walking or something, and you think, 'Oh no, you're still that drippy person.'

I used to think I was ugly because I was the baby.

I don't see myself as beautiful. I was a kid who was freckle-faced, and they used to call me 'hay head.'

I know people will think it's funny because I've done glamour modelling in the past, but I felt embarrassed about my body and just wanted to cover it up.

I'm fat! There's nothing else to call it.

It's difficult to be at events with a room full of women who weigh half as much as you do.

Yes and, you know, I can't use the nice words anymore because I used to chicken out by using them. I used to call myself plus size, used to call myself chubby. I used to call myself overweight.

All my life, men have told me I wasn't pretty enough - even the men I was dating. And I'd be like, 'Well, why are you with me, then?' It's always been men putting me down just like my dad. To this day when someone says I'm cute, I can't see it. I don't see it no matter what anybody says.

I hated seeing myself on screen. I was full of complexes. I hated my face for a very, very long time.

People think I have an interesting walk. Hell, I'm just trying to hold my gut in.

When I first began, the technicians, camera and makeup men made me feel so self-conscious that I began to have the biggest inferiority complex about my looks.

They have had such a crazy life living with me as their dad. Not crazy but different from their friends.

People made fun of my skinny legs.

As a teenager, I had big breasts for my age, and my friends cracked on me a lot.

When I was seven, these kids in the alley behind our house in Omaha called me Freckleface Strawberry. I hated my freckles, and I hated that name. I thought it was humiliating in the way that only a seven-year-old could hate it.

I have a big forehead, and I got made fun of all time. When I was a little girl, they used to call me 'five-head.'

My parents have always been offended by my weight, embarrassed maybe. It didn't fit with their sensibilities.

My husband recently made me try on a bikini. A bikini is not so much a garment as a cloth-based reminder that your parts have been migrating all these years. My waist, I realized that day in the dressing room, has completely disappeared beneath my rib cage, which now rests directly on my hips. I'm exhibiting continental drift in reverse.

All my life people have made fun of me because I was so skinny. They kind of made me feel bad about it sometimes. I worried that maybe people will think I am really anorexic.

I had a lil' chub-chub moment from ages 7 to 11. If somebody was teasing, they'd go straight to my fat. I was so insecure, I kept my shirt on in the pool, which is the worst because it sticks to your stomach anyway.

Imagine if somebody said your nose is too big or your ears stick out. For me, it was my neck was too short. It stuck with me all my life.

I don't feel ashamed or humiliated when I am naked, but I definitely feel it when I am playing games.

My mother endlessly told me I was too fat, that I wasn't a patch on my sister. It wasn't much fun growing up with her and her almost irrational social climbing in that huge house of my dull stepfather Hughdie Auchincloss in Washington.

I don't like the way my arms jiggle.