I know what I'm capable of — it's other people who have a problem with my image, not me.
As you become older, you become less judgmental and take offense less.
I'm more contented and at peace with myself now than I was as a box-office queen.
Success is terrifying. Like happiness, it is often appreciated in retrospect.
Life is Supercalifragilisticexpialidocius.
My first profession was singing, and I'm always guilty that I don't practice enough… I love to exercise, to write, to be Mrs. Edwards, to be with my kids, and there's just not enough time in the day to do all the things I want to do. I just do what seems to have to be done, but I'm never as ready as I think I should be. I try to deal with priorities, but it tears me apart. Unfortunately
something always has to go by the wayside. Ultimately, I guess, it all balances out.
I certainly wouldn't compare the rewards of watching one's children grow and mature with that of money piling up at the box office. Both are pleasant, but to varying degrees. As the old saying goes, you can't take an audience home with you. You can't depend on the loyalty of fans, who, after all is said and done, are just faceless people one seldom sees. And few stars have their fans forever. But
a child is forever. That bond and relationship is timeless and doesn't depend on your looks, age or popularity at the moment.
Success is failing nineteen times and soaring the twentieth.
I've learned things about myself through singing. I used to have a certain dislike of the audience, not as individual people, but as a giant body who was judging me. Of course, it wasn't really them judging me. It was me judging me. Once I got past that fear, it freed me up, not just when I was performing but in other parts of my life.
I think of part of myself as a very passionate person, but I don't think that comes across. I don't know where it comes from, that reserve or veneer of British niceness. But it doesn't bother me if other people don't spot the passion. I know it's there… As long as Blake knows.
I saw The Sound of Music again recently, and I loved it. Probably it's a more valuable film now than when it first came out, because some of the things it stood for have already disappeared. There's a kind of naive loveliness about it, and love goes by so fast … love and music and happiness and family, that's what it's all about. I believe in these things. It would be awful not to, wouldn't it?