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I can sculpt a birthday cake out of shit and insist that I obviously mean cake, that my real intent is to wish you a happy birthday, but my intentions and protestations cannot turn crap into a delicious dessert.
--
Chapter Seven, If You're So Smart, Why Ain't You Rich?, p. 212

 

Laura Penny

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You know it doesn't make much sense,
There ought to be a law against
Anyone who takes offence
At a day in your celebration,
'Cause we all know in our minds
That there ought to be a time
That we can set aside
To show just how much we love you,
And I'm sure you would agree,
What could fit more perfectly
Than to have a world party
On the day you came to be?
Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you,
Happy birthday.

 

Stevie Wonder

 

“In football you need to have everything in your cake mix to make the cake taste right. One little bit of ingredient that Tony uses in his cake gets talked about all the time is Rory’s throw. Call that cinnamon and he’s got a cinnamon flavoured cake. It’s not fair and it’s not right and it’s only a small part of what he does."

 

Ian Holloway

 

When I go to a wedding, I live for the wedding cake. It's all I care about. So Brooke at one point calls me and says "C'mon, we're gonna get started", so I go and sit in the very front row, as close to the wedding cake as possible, cause I literally want that second piece. So anyway, I sit down and I'm right in the front row with Brooke. And it turns out she meant come sit here cause Tuck and Patti are starting, like, their full concert!! And I thought, oh shit! And I'm looking at the wedding cake, salivating like a dog!

 

Kathy Griffin

 

As for my birth month, a detail of much interest to poets, obsessed as they are with symbolic systems of all kinds: I was not pleased, during my childhood, to have been born in November, as there wasn't much inspiration for birthday party motifs. February children got hearts, May ones flowers, but what was there for me? A cake surrounded by withered leaves? November was a drab, dark and wet month, lacking even snow; its only noteworthy festival was Remembrance Day. But in adult life I discovered that November was, astrologically speaking, the month of sex, death and regeneration, and that November First was the Day of the Dead. It still wouldn't have been much good for birthday parties, but it was just fine for poetry, which tends to revolve a good deal around sex and death, with regeneration optional.

 

Margaret Atwood

 

Wanting more. Having your cake or eating your cake are fine. Not even wanting cake is where you get f**ked.

 

Doug Stanhope