Far as I can tell, I still have most of my hair, my gut is not hanging over my belt, and I still have all of my teeth.
Who's gonna love you when your looks are gone?
I was a pin-up girl. I did it for 30 years and, quite frankly, it gets a bit boring.
I'd like to retire at 50 but I don't want to sell papers in the middle of London on a Zimmer.
I'm feeling incredibly Botox-tempted as my face collapses around my shoulders.
I'm always looking for something. Not in an unhappy way. I just like to try different things. I don't want to be morbid, but I'm not getting any younger.
Since I was in my 20s, I've been giving my face 30 hot splashes in the morning and at night, and I keep thinking, If it's 25, oh my gosh, I'm going to fall apart.
There ain't no way I'm going to be droppin' nothing. If I was in my twenties, maybe. But now I try to keep it looking decent. I don't want to expose too much of my bare ass.
Losing my teeth didn't impede my acting, but it was a constant worry and meant I was never completely relaxed.
When you're 21, you think, 'Oh God, when I'm 36, oh God, that's nearly 40 and I'll look really old and wrinkly by then.' And actually, I quite like the way I look.
Obviously as I'm getting older, I'm seeing changes in my body that I may not like... but I do love food, and I'm from the South. I'm not gonna lie, I eat fried chicken, I love macaroni and cheese, and I love grits.
Since becoming an alleged adult, I've always felt like I should exercise - or should at least want to exercise - and make a feeble attempt at health, thus staving off terrible things like the coronary heart disease and high cholesterol described to me in 1980s margarine commercials.
Postponing doing the really interesting things in life for later, when you don't have the energy.
There are days when I definitely look in the mirror and go, "All right, I need to find a cream." I can't foresee myself ever going under the knife, but then again, I'm only in my mid-thirties. Maybe it's different when you're in your mid-sixties.
When I get older, I don't think I'll like to have wrinkles, or a big jelly belly. I cannot have it.
As the tenor roars his passion, I think sadly of my spreading middle, and his.
I'm losing my hair. I'm overweight. It's not like that's at the top of the list when women go looking for a man. It's like - complete collapse, every year.
I don't wanna look like a 65-year-old geezer, you know, and I can't really see it happening.
Bill Murray is on the show tonight. Next week I'll be Goggling 'foods that improve prostate health.'
There are many mysteries in old age but the greatest, surely, is this: in those adverts for walk-in bathtubs, why doesn't all the water gush out when you get in?
I don't consider 41 being in prime of life. Even if I conceived a child tomorrow I'd be 52 by the time it was 10. I'm not sure I'd have the energy, and I find that quite scary.
I wasn't very confident about clothes; I was always hunting through racks, never sure what looked right. It can be like that again when you're older.
I'm not going to be 50 and playing. I hope I'm 40, but 50, no.
It's funny to see my friends going through that middle-age thing about losing their hair. I went through it in college. They all say, "Oh my God, I'm getting old. I'm never getting laid again." Shut up. Yes, you are.
The thought of having sclerosis of the synapses is alarming. I wonder if in later life I will pay the price for having overstimulated my mental apparatus in my twenties.
