Bridget Jones Diary Quotes

It struck me as pretty ridiculous to be called Mr. Darcy and to stand on your own looking snooty at a party. It's like being called Heathcliff and insisting on spending the entire evening in the garden, shouting "Cathy" and banging your head against a tree.

It is a truth universally acknowledged that when one part of your life starts going okay, another falls spectacularly to pieces.

Can officially confirm that the way to a man's heart these days is not through beauty, food, sex, or alluringness of character, but merely the ability to seem not very interested in him.

I will not fall for any of the following: alcoholics, workaholics, commitment phobics, people with girlfriends or wives, misogynists, megalomanics, chauvists, emotional fuckwits or freeloaders, perverts.

Tom has a theory that homosexuals and single women in their thirties have natural bonding: both being accustomed to disappointing their parents and being treated as freaks by society.

I like you very much. Just as you are.

That is such crap. How dare you be so fraudulently flirtatious, cowardly and dysfunctional? I am not interested in emotional fuckwittage. Goodbye.

It is proved by surveys that happiness does not come from love, wealth, or power but the pursuit of attainable goals.

I will not get upset over men, but instead be poised and cool ice-queen.

When someone leaves you, apart from missing them, apart from the fact that the whole little world you've created together collapses, and that everything you see or do reminds you of them, the worst is the thought that they tried you out and, in the end, the whole sum of parts adds up to you got stamped REJECT by the one you love. How can you not be left with the personal confidence of a passed over British Rail sandwich?

But if you are single the last thing you want is your best friend forming a functional relationship with somebody else.

When someone loves you it's like having a blanket all round your heart...

I'm no good at anything. Not men. Not social skills. Not work. Nothing.

Don't say 'what,' say 'pardon,' darling, and do as your mother tells you.

Thank you, Daniel, that is very good to know. But if staying here means working within 10 yards of you, frankly, I'd rather have a job wiping Saddam Hussein's arse.

Emotional fuckwittage

Oh God, what's wrong with me? Why does nothing ever work out?

One must not live one's life through men but must be complete on oneself as a woman of substance.

Sink into morbid, cynical reflection on how much romantic heartbreak is to do with ego and miffed pride rather than actual loss

Come on, let's get you a drink. How's your love life, anyway? Oh God. Why can't married people understand that this is no longer a polite question to ask? We wouldn't rush up to them and roar, "How's your marriage going? Still have sex?

I realize it has become too easy to find a diet to fit in with whatever you happen to feel like eating and that diets are not there to be picked and mixed but picked and stuck to, which is exactly what I shall begin to do once I've eaten this chocolate croissant.

..we were always taught, instead of waiting to be swept off our feet, to 'expect little, forgive much'.

Valentine's Day purely commercial, cynical enterprise, anyway. Matter of supreme indifference to me.

I am not interested in emotional fuckwittage.

As women glide from their twenties to thirties, Shazzer argues, the balance of power subtly shifts. Even the most outrageous minxes lose their nerve, wrestling with the first twinges of existential angst: fears of dying alone and being found three weeks later half-eaten by an Alsatian.

Resolution number one: Obviously will lose twenty pounds. Number two: Always put last night's panties in the laundry basket. Equally important, will find sensible boyfriend to go out with and not continue to form romantic attachments to any of the following: alcoholics, workaholics, commitment phobic's, peeping toms, megalomaniacs, emotional fuckwits or perverts. And especially will not fantasize about a particular person who embodies all these things

You see, things being good has nothing to do with how you feel outside, it is all to do with how you are inside.

Why, when people are leaving their partners because they're having an affair with someone else, do they think it will seem better to pretend there is no one else involved? Do they think it will be less hurtful for their partners to think they just walked out because they couldn't stand them any more and then had the good fortune to meet some tall Omar Sharif-figure with a gentleman's handbag two weeks afterwards while the ex-partner is spending his evenings bursting into tears at the sight of the toothbrush mug? It's like those people who invent a lie as an excuse rather than the truth, even when the truth is better than the lie.

Oh God. valentine's Day tomorrow. Why? Why? Why is (the) entire world geared to make people not involved in romance feel stupid when everyone knows romance does not work anyway. Look at (the) royal family. Look at Mum and Dad.

Singletons should not have to explain themselves all the time but should have an accepted status — like geisha girls do

Being a woman is worse than being a farmer there is so much harvesting and crop spraying to be done: legs to be waxed, underarms shaved, eyebrows plucked, feet pumiced, skin exfoliated and moisturised, spots cleansed, roots dyed, eyelashes tinted, nails filed, cellulite massaged, stomach muscles exercised. The whole performance is so highly tuned you only need to neglect it for a few days for the whole thing to go to seed. Sometimes I wonder what I would be like if left to revert to nature — with a full beard and handlebar moustache on each shin Dennis Healey eyebrows face a graveyard of dead skin cells spots erupting long curly fingernails like Struwelpeter blind as bat and stupid runt of species as no contact lenses flabby body flobbering around. Ugh ugh. Is it any wonder girls have no confidence?

You only get one life. I've just made a decision to change things a bit and spend what's left of mine looking after me for a change.

Oh, God, I'm so lonely. An entire weekend streching ahead with no one to love or have fun with. Anyway, I don't care. I've got a lovely steamed ginger pudding from M&S to put in the microwave.

You'll never get a boyfriend if you look like you wandered out of Auschwitz.

One minute you're closer to someone than anyone in the whole world, next minute they need only to say the words 'time apart', 'serious talk' or 'maybe you...' and you're never going to see them again and will have to spend the next six months having imaginary conversations in which they beg to come back, and bursting into tears at the sight of their toothbrush.

The whole bloody world's got a commitment problem. It's the three-minute culture. It's a global attention-span deficit.

Work — once merely an annoying nuisance — has become an agonizing torture.

I looked at him nonplussed. I realized that I have spent so many years being on a diet that the idea that you might actually need calories to survive has been completely wiped out of my consciousness. Have reached point where believe nutritional ideal is to eat nothing at all, and that the only reason people eat is because they are so greedy they cannot stop themselves from breaking out and ruining their diets.

Went to Jude's party tonight in a tight little black dress to show off figure feeling v. full of myself... ... There's nothing worse than people telling you you looked tired. They might as well have done with it and say you look like five kinds of shit.

I know we're all psychotic, single and completely dysfunctional and it's all done over the phone,' Tom slurred sentimentally, 'but it's a bit like a family, isn't it?

The plans to lose weight and change personality kept me aloft for two days, only to collapse around my ears. I realize it was only a complicated form of denial.

Junction nineteen! Una, she came off at Junction nineteen! You've added an hour to your journey before you even started. Come on, let's get you a drink. How's your love life, anyway?" Oh GOD. Why can't married people understand that this is no longer a polite question to ask? We wouldn't rush up to THEM and roar, "How's your marriage going? Still having sex?" Everyone knows that dating in your thirties is not the happy-go-lucky free-for-it-all it was when you were twenty-two and that the honest answer is more likely to be, "Actually, last night my married lover appeared wearing suspenders and a darling little Angora crop-top, told me he was gay/a sex addict/a narcotic addict/a commitment phobic and beat me up with a dildo," than, "Super, thanks.

Girls are so much nicer than men (apart from Tom-but homosexual).

I will not be defeated by a bad man and an American stick insect...instead I choose Chaka Khan...and vodka... Bridget Jones

Alcohol units: 5. Drowning sorrows. Cigarettes: 23. Fumigating sorrows. Calories: 3,856. Smothering sorrows in fat duvet.

Bridget Jones, wanton sex goddess, with a very bad man between her thighs... Mum... Hi.

Decided to have a cappuccino and chocolate croissants on way to work to cheer self up. Do not care about figure. Is no point as no one loves or cares about me.

Reminded of favorite poem by Wendy Cope which goes: At Christmas little children sing and merry bells jingle. The cold winter air makes our hands and faces tingle. And happy families go to church and cheerily they mingle, And the whole business is unbelievably dreadful if you're single.

Our culture is too obsessed with outward appearance, age, and status. Love is what matters.

It's all chop-change chop-change with you. Either go out with me and treat me nicely, or leave me alone. As I say, I am not interested in fuckwittage.

it’s extremely hard work looking after a toddler and a baby all day, and it doesn’t stop. When Jeremy comes home at the end of the day he wants to put his feet up and be nurtured

Now you go out there, do your best, and don't get caught up in everyone else's nonsense. It'll turn out fine, I promise you.

Everything’s just so good now, because, as Dad says, ‘It’s coming from the inside, not the outside.

Bet I will become known as brilliant cook and hostess

Exes should never, never go out with or marry other people but should remain celibate to the end of their days in order to provide you with a mental fallback position.

Bridget: Thank you, Daniel, that is very good to know. But if staying here means working within 10 yards of you, frankly, I'd rather have a job wiping Saddam Hussein's arse.

mascara-ing her eyelashes with her mouth wide open (necessity of open mouth during mascara application great unexplained mystery of nature). “Don’t

The whole bloody world's got a commitment problem. It's the three-minute culture. It's a global attention-span deficit. It's typical of men to annex a global trend and turn it into a male device to reject women to make themselves feel clever and us feel stupid. It's nothing but fuckwittage.

Oh, darling, you can’t go around with that tatty green canvas thing. You look like some sort of Mary Poppins person who’s fallen on hard times.

I hate Christmas. Everything is designed for families, romance, warmth, emotion and presents, and if you have no boyfriend, no money, your mother is going out with a missing Portuguese criminal and your friends don't want to be your friend anymore, it makes you want to emigrate to a vicious Muslim regime, where at least all the women are treated like social outcasts. Anyway, I don't care. I am going to quietly read a book all weekend and listen to classical music.

Is the whole world doomed to emotional trauma?

Where is the tuna? Where? Where?

Tu ne peux pas passer ton temps à essayer de plaire à tout le monde... Une des choses les plus importantes qu'il te faut apprendre dans la vie, c'est à dire non.

The trouble with trying to go out with people when you get older is that everything becomes so loaded.

Lo que tienes que hacer es ser tan valerosa como una heroína cinematográfica, sin sucumbir a la bebida o la auto-compasión, y al final todo irá bien.

It seems wrong and unfair that Christmas, with its stressful and unmanageable financial and emotional challenges, should first be forced upon one wholly against one's will, then rudely snatched away just when one is starting to get into it. Was really beginning to enjoy the feeling that normal service was suspended and it was OK to lie in bed as long as you want, put anything you fancy into your mouth, and drink alcohol whenever it should chance to pass your way, even in the mornings. Now suddenly we are all supposed to snap into self-discipline like lean teenage greyhounds.

the nation's young men have been proved by surveys to be completely unmarriageable, and as a result there's a whole generation of single girls like me with their own incomes and homes who have lots of fun and don't need to wash anyone else's socks.

It’s no good. When someone leaves you, apart from missing them, apart from the fact that the whole little world you’ve created together collapses, and that everything you see or do reminds you of them, the worst is the thought that they tried you out and, in the end, the whole sum of parts adds up to you got stamped REJECT by the one you love.

Am going to cook shepherd's pie for them all - British home cooking.

I keep telling you nobody wants legs like a stick insect. They want a bottom they can park a bike in and balance a pint of beer on.

Is it just me or is Sunday a bizarre night for a first date? All wrong, like Saturday morning or Monday at 2 p.m.

Our culture is too obsessed with outward appearance, age and status. Love is what matters.

Il faut choisir son régime et s'y tenir. C'est ce que je vais faire. Dès que j'aurai fini mon petit pain au chocolat.

Je ne suis pas mariée parce que je suis une célibattante.

En realidad, estoy completamente a favor de la resignación. Puedes convencerte a ti mismo de cualquier guión que elijas y eso te tiene como unas pascuas;...

Bad enough when a man wanted to touch but could only look. Worse yet when he'd touched and not even noticed.

I will not sulk about having no boyfriend, but develop inner poise and authority and sense of self as woman of substance,complete without boyfriend, as best way to obtain boyfriend.

What about you, this week? First you completely ignore me like some Hitler Youth ice-maiden, then you turn into an irresistible sex kitten, looking at me over the computer with not so much ‘come-to-bed’ as just ‘come’ eyes, and now suddenly you’re Jeremy Paxman.” We

Parte de la arrogancia de la juventud (bueno, digo "juventud" por decir algo)radica en la suposición de que tus padres dejarán todo lo que estén haciendo y te recibirán con los brazos abiertos en cuanto tú decidas aparecer.

One must not live one's life through men but must be complete on oneself as a woman of substance.

this sort of, arrogant individualism which imagines each new generation can somehow create the world afresh.

Sometimes I wonder what I would be like if left to revert to nature—with

liking" the most famous, or the richest, or the prettiest, more than the most human, or the kindest friend.

C'est un des grands mystères de la nature : pourquoi ouvre-t-on toujours la bouche pour se mettre du mascara ?

Sink into morbid, cynical reflection on how much romantic heartbreak is to do with ego and miffed pride rather than actual loss,

It seems wrong and unfair that Christmas, with its stressful and unmanageable financial and emotional challenges, should first be forced upon one wholly against one’s will, then rudely snatched away just when one is starting to get into it.

It struck me as pretty ridiculous to be called Mr. Darcy and to stand on your own looking snooty at a party. It’s like being called Heathcliff and insisting on spending the entire evening in the garden, shouting “Cathy” and banging your head against a tree.

Wise people will say Daniel should like me just as I am, but I am a child of Cosmopolitan culture, have been traumatized by supermodels and too many quizzes and know that neither my personality nor my body is up to it if left to its own devices. I can’t take the pressure. I am going to cancel and spend the evening eating doughnuts in a cardigan with egg on it.

I sat, head down, quivering furiously at their inferences of female sell-by dates and life as game of musical chairs where girls without a chair/man when the music stops/they pass thirty are 'out.' Huh. As if.

Onscreen is the image of a thirty-year-old Renée Zellweger, sporting red pajamas and belting a song into a rolled-up magazine. "Oh my god, Miles," I say. "What?" He says. "You're watching Bridget Jones's Diary?" "It's a good movie!" he cries, a little defensive.

All you do is not eat any food which you have to pay for. So at the start of the diet you’re a bit porky and no one asks you out to dinner. Then you lose weight and get a bit leggy and shag-me hippy and people start taking you out for meals. So then you put a few pounds on, the invitations trail off and you start losing weight again.

Apparently the book says that at certain times in your life everything goes wrong and you don’t know which way to turn and it is as if everywhere around you stainless steel doors are clamping shut like in Star Trek. What you have to do is be a heroine and stay brave, without sinking into drink or self-pity and everything will be OK. And that all the Greek myths and many successful movies are all about human beings facing difficult trials and not being wimps but holding hard and thus coming out on top. The

Do you know one of the things I love most about you, Bridget?' 'What?' I said excitedly, thinking I was about yo be praised: for being intelligent or pretty. 'That in all the time I've known you I've never once been bored by you.

Would that Christmas could just be, without presents. It is just so stupid, everyone exhausting themselves, miserably hemorrhaging money on pointless items nobody wants: no longer tokens of love but angst-ridden solutions to problems. (Hmm. Though must admit, pretty bloody pleased to have new handbag.) What is the point of entire nation rushing round for six weeks in a bad mood preparing for utterly pointless Taste-of-Others exam which entire nation then fails and gets stuck with hideous unwanted merchandise as fallout?

How can I have put on 3 lbs. since the middle of the night? I was 130 when I went to bed, 128 at 4 a.m. and 131 when I got up. I can understand weight coming off—it could have evaporated or passed out of the body into the toilet—but how could it be put on? Could food react chemically with other food, double its density and volume, and solidify into even heavier and denser hard fat?

Chiamarsi Darcy e starsene tutto solo con aria sdegnosa a una festa mi ha subito colpita come una cosa abbastanza ridicola, un po' come se, in Cime Tempestose, Heathcliff passasse tuttta la serata in giardino a gridare "Cathy" e a sbattere la testa contro un tronco.

So,' bellowed Cosmo, pouring me a drink. 'How's your love-life?' Oh no. Why do they do this? Why? Maybe the Smug Marrieds only mix with other Smug Marrieds and don't know how to relate to individuals any more. Maybe they really do want to patronize us and make us feel like failed human beings. Or maybe they are in such a sexual rut they're thinking, 'There's a whole other world out there,' and hoping for vicarious thrills by getting us to tell them the roller-coaster details of our sex lives.

¿Por qué, cuando las personas dejan a sus parejas porque están teniendo un lío con otra persona, creen mejor hacer ver que no hay nadie más involucrado? ... Es lo mismo que esas personas que inventan una mentira como excusa en lugar de decir la verdad, aunque la verdad sea mejor que la mentira.

I realized that I have spent so many years being on a diet that the idea that you might actually need calories to survive has been completely wiped out of my consciousness. Have reached point where believe nutritional ideal is to eat nothing at all and that the only reason people eat is because they are so greedy they cannot stop themselves from breaking out and ruining their diets.

6 p.m. Completely exhausted by entire day of date-preparation. Being a woman is worse than being a farmer—there is so much harvesting and crop spraying to be done: legs to be waxed, underarms shaved, eyebrows plucked, feet pumiced, skin exfoliated and moisturized, spots cleansed, roots dyed, eyelashes tinted, nails filed, cellulite massaged, stomach muscles exercised. The whole performance is so highly tuned you only need to neglect it for a few days for the whole thing to go to seed. Sometimes I wonder what I would be like if left to revert to nature—with a full beard and handlebar moustache on each shin, Dennis Healey eyebrows, face a graveyard of dead skin cells, spots erupting, long curly fingernails like Struwwelpeter, blind as bat and stupid runt of species as no contact lenses, flabby body flobbering around. Ugh, ugh. Is it any wonder girls have no confidence?