Sally Hawkins Quotes

In my 20s, it was very hard to go, 'I'm heavier than that girl.' Getting older makes a huge difference.

I've always been aware of the emphasis on beauty in Hollywood, and I think that as one does get older, it can be scary.

I eat a bit too much; my teeth aren't perfect; I've got eye bags. I look like a normal 39-year-old woman - but in England, no one minds that.

My looks have changed, but I was never beautiful, so I'm not any less beautiful now.

When I started out in 'Caravan,' I looked plump, but that looks fine when you are young. But as you age, you put on weight, it looks obnoxious, you slow down and carry a paunch.

I have thick hair which is like Plasticine - it's mouldable. So I'll fashion it into some creation that looks presentable. I often wear it down because I have a tiny head and small face, and my hair adds volume to help disguise my pinhead.

I really don't think you need to be 40 and have three kids and have a body of an 18-year-old.

'Pin' was a creepy little movie that I starred in back when I was cool and thin and had so much hair I didn't know what color to dye it.

I'm secretly like 800 pounds and 90 years old.

When I was younger, I wanted to be tall and skinny. And because I wasn't, I was disappointed. The great thing about getting older is that I've come to accept my shape - and embrace it.

My chin - I've got another one underneath the first one.

In my 40s, I expect to finally reap the average-looking girl's revenge. I've entered the stage of life where you don't need to be beautiful; simply by being well-preserved and not obese, I would now pass for pretty.

I never had one of those glorious young bodies that make older men and women weep. So I don't tend to look back with nostalgia or yearn for what I've lost. Because it was never all that.

Part of my job is to be looked at and I do think we live in a world where you are judged on your looks. If you look at someone you previously liked and they look old and decrepit, I don't think it's that pleasant.

My first big disappointment is always, why don't I look like Julie Christie? Then I realise I don't look remotely like Julie Christie, and that's always a great sadness to me. Because I used to think I might have done, at one time. And I'm too fat. And I'm too old. You always see your faults, you see.

I was a skinny 17-year-old.

I'm the one usually wearing the dress, which is what I would've preferred, but they wouldn't let me. It's been 15 years since I did that and my ass isn't as good as it used to be.

But the body fails us and the mirror knows, and we no longer insist that the gray hush be carried off its surface by the cloth, for we have run to fat, and wrinkles encircle the eyes and notch the neck where the skin wattles, and the flesh of the arms hangs loose like an overlarge sleeve, veins thicken like ropes and empurple the body as though they had been drawn there by a pen, freckles darken, liver spots appear, the hairah, the hair is exhausted and gray and lusterless, in weary rolls like cornered lint.

As the tenor roars his passion, I think sadly of my spreading middle, and his.

Never say never. At least with working out I'm proving you don't need to. If I have three chins at 75 I'm not saying I wouldn't get rid of them, but who knows. Generally, I'd leave it alone.

I don't have problems with my weight, I don't change weight but I think when you're gaining in age your position has to be beautiful.

I never have thought I was beautiful and I never can get beautiful enough. I'm always doing whatever I can to look as good as I can, nipping and tucking if necessary. When you're older, you probably look more bizarre to people. But I don't care. I'm just totally convinced that it's more important that I be happy with me.

The immense accretion of flesh which had descended on her in middle life like a flood of lava on a doomed city had changed her from a plump active little woman with a neatly-turned foot and ankle into something as vast and august as a natural phenomenon. She had accepted this submergence as philosohpically as all her other trials, and now, in extreme old age, was rewarded by presenting to her mirror an almost unwrinkled expanse of firm pink and white flesh, in the centre of which the traces of a small face survived as if awaiting excavation.

If the veins in the back of your legs look like the street map of greater Pittsburgh, you ain't nobody's babydoll.

I change my hairstyle every day for the show, I'm fastidious and vain about my nails and teeth and grooming and makeup, but a perfect body, forget it. Dust to dust, wuggies to wuggies.