My mom FedExes a red velvet cake she makes from scratch to me every birthday.

My mother asked me what I wanted for my birthday, so I said I wanted to read poetry with her.

I like to give people novels I think they would like, on no particular occasion - just when we're in a bookstore together. I like to receive reference books on my birthday.

The main prank that we play with props is for people's birthdays. The special effects people will put a little explosive in the cake so it blows up in their face - that's always fun to play on a guest star, or one of the trainees or someone who's new.

I remember when the candle shop burned down. Everyone stood around singing 'Happy Birthday.'

At her birthday, my seven-year-old daughter will say that she wants these big cakes and certain expensive toys as presents, and I can't say no to her. It would just break my heart. But when I was little, for birthdays we just played outside and we were happy if we got any cake.

Every day, every birthday candle I blow out, every penny I throw over my shoulder in a wishing well, every time my daughter says, 'Let's make a wish on a star,' there's one thing I wish for: wisdom.

A friend never defends a husband who gets his wife an electric skillet for her birthday.

I love the big fresh starts, the clean slates like birthdays and new years, but I also really like the idea that we can get up every morning and start over.

I like birthday cake. It's so symbolic. It's a tempting symbol to load with something more complicated than just 'Happy birthday!' because it's this emblem of childhood and a happy day.

I love a card. You know, cards? At birthdays? I collect them.

I'm not going to be caught around here for any fool celebration. To hell with birthdays!

I don't pay attention to the number of birthdays. It's weird when I say I'm 53. It just is crazy that I'm 53. I think I'm very immature. I feel like a kid. That's why my back goes out all the time, because I completely forget I can't do certain things anymore - like doing the plank for 10 minutes.

It's odd the things that people remember. Parents will arrange a birthday party, certain it will stick in your mind forever. You'll have a nice time, then two years later you'll be like, 'There was a pony there? Really? And a clown with one leg?'

It is lovely, when I forget all birthdays, including my own, to find that somebody remembers me.

There is still no cure for the common birthday.

It was on my fifth birthday that Papa put his hand on my shoulder and said, 'Remember, my son, if you ever need a helping hand, you'll find one at the end of your arm.'

All the world is birthday cake, so take a piece, but not too much.

Our birthdays are feathers in the broad wing of time.

The return of my birthday, if I remember it, fills me with thoughts which it seems to be the general care of humanity to escape.

I'm a summer baby, so I usually have my birthday as a good summer memory.

There are three hundred and sixty-four days when you might get un-birthday presents, and only one for birthday presents, you know.

A birthday is just another day where you go to work and people give you love. Age is just a state of mind, and you are as old as you think you are. You have to count your blessings and be happy.

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.