I'm one of those people who had Christmas and my birthday always combined, and generally, my birthday was pretty much ignored. But my parents are always good about making some kind of special effort to make me feel like I also have a birthday that exists.
Birthdays are ghost bounty hunters that track you down to ask, "Que pasa, baby?
He was about to go home, about to return to the place where he had had a family. It was in Godric’s Hollow that, but for Voldemort, he would have grown up and spent every school holiday. He could have invited friends to his house. . . . He might even have had brothers and sisters. . . . It would have been his mother who had made his seventeenth birthday cake. The life he had lost had hardly ever seemed so real to him as at this moment, when he knew he was about to see the place where it had been taken from him.
I hate birthdays. I thought that I only hated my own birthday, and then I realized that I hate my children's birthdays too.
My birthday is a day when all I want is to bask in the love of my family and rarely accept offers for concerts and shows if they are to be held on this day.
I remember, I remember The roses, red and white, The violets, and the lily-cups, Those flowers made of light! The lilacs, where the robin built, And where my brother set The laburmum on his birthday,- The tree is living yet.
I was never the kind to throw parties for my birthday. I remember how embarrassed I used to be when they'd make me cut a cake on the sets, and the unit would sing 'Happy Birthday.'
I've never really made a big deal out of my birthday.
March 15th is the most important day of the year. It's my birthday.
I've spent many birthdays on a movie set, all great days.
My birthday is generally a very quiet affair.
I am a birthday person. I am not modest about birthdays.
