I've never met a woman who thinks they've got a good enough figure – however perfect they look – which is sad because no one else can see these perceived flaws they're entirely internal.
Home will always be Northern Ireland but my schedule means for the next few years I won't be there as much. I can't do the same things that I did a year ago. That is I'm something conscious of but I'm not sad about it. It's fine.
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Was there ever such stuff as great as part of Shakespeare? Only one must not say so! But what think you? – What? – Is there not sad stuff? What? – What?
