Like any working mother I find it hard to have a social life. But my kids are so well adjusted. There isn't a brat bone in their body so I haven't done anything that bad.

Talking with you is sort of the conversational equivalent of an out of body experience.

Not the torturer will scare me, nor the body's final fall, nor the barrels of death's rifles, nor the shadows on the wall, nor the night when to the ground the last dim star of pain, is hurled but the blind indifference of a merciless, unfeeling world.

I made a commitment to completely cut out drinking and anything that might hamper me from getting my mind and body together. And the floodgates of goodness have opened upon me - spiritually and financially.

Coming from a barely clothed childhood as a swimmer makes me really comfortable with my body.

I don't see on television the kind of blood and guts and body parts blown apart that maybe you're referring to, but it certainly is in that BATMAN feature and I found it very offensive.

All those years of skating and dancing have carried over. I can't design anything without thinking of how a woman's body will look and move when she's wearing it.

I believe Congress has a duty to do so as well; not simply as a body of legislators, but more importantly as a community of friends, neighbors, parents and Americans.

Be good to yourself. Listen to your body, to your heart. We're very hard on ourselves, and we're always feeling like we're not doing enough. It's a terribly hard job.

On the spiritual theory, man consists essentially of a spiritual nature or mind intimately associated with a spiritual body or soul, both of which are developed in and by means of a material organism.

I want my careless song to strike no minor key; no fiend to stand between my body's Southern song - the fusion of the South, my body's song and me.

The poetry of a people comes from the deep recesses of the unconscious, the irrational and the collective body of our ancestral memories.

We have fallen in love with the body. That's that thing that looks back at us from the mirror. That's the repository of that lovely identity that you keep chasing all your life.

The personal vocabulary, the individual melody whose metre is one's biography, joins in that sound, with any luck, and the body moves like a walking, a waking island.

Memory that yearns to join the centre, a limb remembering the body from which it has been severed, like those bamboo thighs of the god.