Britney Quotes

A girl’s got to use what she’s given and I’m not going to make a guy drool the way a Britney video does. So I take it to extremes. I don’t say I dress sexily on stage - what I do is so extreme. It’s meant to make guys think: ‘I don’t know if this is sexy or just weird.

I don't think anyone can give you advice when you've got a broken heart.

The warrior (Zsadist) rolled his black eyes. "Come on, man. What does it matter to me? You, Tohr. Britney Spears.

To say I had some pent-up anger would be like saying Britney Spears had minor impulse-control issues.

I don’t believe in guilty pleasures. If you fucking like something, like it. That’s what’s wrong with our generation: that residual punk rock guilt, like, “You’re not supposed to like that. That’s not fucking cool.” Don’t fucking think it’s not cool to like Britney Spears’ “Toxic.” It is cool to like Britney Spears’ “Toxic”! Why the fuck not? Fuck you! That’s who I am, goddamn it! That whole guilty pleasure thing is full of fucking shit.

Every night, I have to read a book, so that my mind will stop thinking about things that I stress about.

i dont want to be compared to britney,ashlee,hilary or lindsay. i want to be compared to me.

I get to go to overseas places, like Canada.

I've never really wanted to go to Japan. Simply because I don’t like eating fish. And I know that's very popular out there in Africa.

I created Punk for this day and age. Do you see Britney walking around wearing ties and singing punk? Hell no. That's what I do. I'm like a Sid Vicious for a new generation.

In China today, Bill Gates is Britney Spears. In America today, Britney Spears is Britney Spears-and that is our problem.

I said no strippers," I said, watching dumbfounded as Trenton danced around the room to Britney Spears.

My friend is having his period," I told the pizza guy, and handed him his tip. "He needs Britney and extra cheese to get him through it. I'm trying to be supportive.

I wanted to hide, but I also wanted to be seen. Both things could be true.

There have been so many times when I was scared to speak up because I was afraid somebody would think I was crazy. But I’ve learned that lesson now, the hard way. You have to speak the thing that you’re feeling, even if it scares you. You have to tell your story. You have to raise your voice.

I believe we all have one true love, somewhere in this world I do.

Britney: You in a fight? Odd: No, It's an employment-related fork wound.

As if gaining weight was something unkind I had done to them personally, a betrayal. At what point did I promise to stay 17 for the rest of my life?

I don't like defining myself. I just am.

It was a full Spears album, apparently, and each song was as ridiculous as the one before. They were catchy, yes, but so was the plague.

I wish back then I’d known the Dolly Parton joke: “I’m not offended by all the dumb blonde jokes because I know I’m not dumb. And I also know that I’m not blonde.

I had some tough times...i did some bad shit...but i'm still the same girl i used to be

I believe that Britney Spears should be one of Baskin-Robbins 31 flavors..... 2 scoops

I sat up. Slowly. Between the belly dancing, the fire, the visit to Dave and it's aftermath, the night had taken its toll. You look like crap!" Cole said merrily. "I like the hair though." He made a camera frame with his thumbs and forefingers and in the genie voice from Aladdin said, "Now what does this say to me? Homeless women? Tornado victim? Britney Spears? I've got it! Preschooler who's misplaced her gum!" I regarded him balefully. "You're a morning person, aren't you?" You make that sound like a bad thing." Not if you stop talking.

I know you don’t believe me, but I really have loved you since we were kids,” he said quietly. “And now I get to love you ’til we’re old.” My stomach fluttered. No one else had ever loved me as much as he did. “Promise?” Trenton smiled with tired eyes. “Yes. And then I’ll promise you again after I dance around in a thong to Britney Spears.

In that moment, I made peace with my family—by which I mean that I realized I never wanted to see them again, and I was at peace with that.

There's only two types of people in the world: the ones that entertain, and the ones that observe.

Bottom line: If you love yourself, it will all work out.

The saddest part to me was that what I always wanted was a dad who would love me as I was—somebody who would say, “I just love you. You could do anything right now. I’d still love you with unconditional love.

You'll Never See It My Way, Because You're Not Me!

How can you not like Britney Spears?

I'm gonna start off somewhere small like London or England.

If no one is used to you being assertive, they get very freaked out when you start speaking your mind.

He slides one shot glass in front of me and raises his. “To us. We’ve officially outlasted at least one or two celebrity marriages. Britney Spears comes to mind.

It’s weird like, you can see the cruelest part of the world. The cruelest part. But then on the other side you see the most beautiful part, do you know? And it’s like you go from one extreme to the next and they’re both worth it, because you wouldn’t see one without the other. But that cruel part, is damn cruel and you’ll never forget it. But that heaven…is heaven.

Never doubt yourself. Never change who you are. Don't care what people think and just go for it.

I was quiet and small, but when I sang I came alive,

If someone took my baby away from me, I would have done a lot more than get a haircut. I would have burned the city to the ground.

Step 6: Stop enjoying things ironically. Just enjoy them Know what? I love Britney Spears and Forever 21. And I could pretend like it’s this whole meta thing where I’m not actually enjoying it but rather just making this esoteric statement on lowbrow culture, but (insert handjob motion here). The truth is that I love trashy dance pop and the garments that are its clothing equivalent. You don’t need to make your tastes a self-conscious statement about who you are. Just unapologetically like the things you like.

My father shoved aside my bowl of receipts, setting up his things on the bar. “I just want to let you know,” he said, “I call the shots. You sit right there in that chair and I’ll tell you what goes on.” I looked at him with a growing sense of horror. “I’m Britney Spears now,” he said.

I would like to be called an inspiration to people, not a role model - because I make mistakes like everybody else. When I'm offstage, I'm just like everybody else.

I realized how powerful it can be when women defy expectations.

I dress the way I want. I don`t pretend to be someone I`m not.

You have to speak the thing that you’re feeling, even if it scares you. You have to tell your story. You have to raise your voice.

Both armies liked to poison their weapons. They usually used the blood of Medusa, or spittle from Cerberus, the three-headed dog of the underworld. I'd even seen them use Britney Spears perfume. We actually preferred that last one. It smelled nice and it wouldn't kill any mortals on staff.

I Know not everyone will like me, but this is who I am So if you don't like it, Tough!

What happened to you?” Seth was out of his chair and circling her. “You look like Britney Spears, back when she was dating backup dancers and walking around gas stations barefoot.

Our love is strong. Why carry on without me?

Shaving my head was a way of saying to the world: Fuck you. You want me to be pretty for you? Fuck you. You want me to be good for you? Fuck you. You want me to be your dream girl? Fuck you. I’d been the good girl for years. I’d smiled politely while TV show hosts leered at my breasts, while American parents said I was destroying their children by wearing a crop top, while executives patted my hand condescendingly and second-

The trouble with my generation is that we all think we're fucking geniuses. Making something isn't good enough for us, and neither is selling something, or teaching something, or even just doing something; we have to be something. It's our inalienable right, as citizens of the twenty-first century. If Christina Aguilera or Britney or some American Idol jerk can be something, then why can't I? Where's mine, huh?

I did not have implants, I just had a growth spurt.

When Muslim radicals and fundamentalists look at the West, they see only the openness that makes us, in their eyes, decadent and promiscuous. They see only the openness that has produced Britney Spears and Janet Jackson. They do not see, and do not want to see, the openness - the freedom of thought and inquiry - that has made us powerful, the openness that has produced Bill Gates and Sally Ride. They deliberately define it all as decadence. Because if openness, women's empowerment, and freedom of thought and inquiry are the real sources of the West's economic strength, then the Arab-Muslim world would have to change. And the fundamentalists and extremists do not want to change.

Archer pressed a preset button on my car radio. An old Britney Spears song blared, and I sung along to every word, bopping in my seat. Archer just looked at me. "Oh, come on!" I said. "Who doesn't sing along to Britney?

Think of how many male artists gambled all their money away; how many had substance abuse or mental health issues. No one tried to take away their control over their body and money. I didn’t deserve what my family did to me.

With love, you should go ahead and take the risk of getting hurt... because love is an amazing feeling.

He was willing to pay her to hang around his house and paint Piper's fingernails? It sounded as easy as Britney Spears.

It's Britney, bitch.

All I wanted was to be taken away from the everyday world and into that realm where I could express myself without thinking. When I was alone with my thoughts, my mind filled with worries and fears. Music stopped the noise, made me feel confident, and took me to a pure place of expressing myself exactly as I wanted to be seen and heard. Singing took me into the presence of the divine.

In 1803, President Jefferson oversaw the purchase of this land from the French for $15 million. It doesn't sound like much for an area three times the size of France itself but given that they'd stolen it from the Native Americans in the first place, I suppose they couldn't grumble. Once some debts had been wiped and estate agents had taken their commission, Napoleon's France ended up pocketing a little more than $8 million. Which is about how much it cost Pepsi Cola to secure the services of Britney Spears. Times have changed.

Puberty in the 2000s was Paris Hilton’s sex tape and Britney Spears’s crotch shots and Amy Winehouse drunk on Never Mind the Buzzcocks, and if any of that happened now we would have found a way to celebrate it, but then it was disgusting.

I want to be an artist that everyone can relate to, that's young, happy and fun.

My prerogative right now is to just chill and let all the other overexposed blondes on the cover of Us Weekly (magazine) be your entertainment.

If you stood up for me when I couldn’t stand up for myself: from the bottom of my heart, thank you.

I swear to God the woman sang the whole song, to my face. It was just so awkward, and every time I stood next to her she started singing it again. I thought how that would be like me going up to Britney and singing the whole of 'Baby One More Time' in her face. Can you imagine how weird that would be?

I wanted to say that I was sorry, but not for the obvious. I was sorry that I had turned out to be such a big disappointment. Sorry that I couldn’t make things better. Sorry that everything I touched turned to crap. Seeing Mom cry had torn me up. Until finally she said something. “What happened to your hair? Did you do that?” At that moment, I hated Britney Spears.

I feel like a lot of women—and this is definitely true of me—can be as strong as they want to be, can play this powerful role, but at the end of the day, after we’ve done our work and made our money and taken care of everyone else, we want someone to hold us tight and tell us everything’s going to be okay.

With us, there were always too many false starts. I believe that what's meant to be usually has a way of working out... and with us, it never did. Call it timing, call it fate, call it what you want. It is what it is. Sometimes in the end, the girl doesn't always get the boy--and that's ok. Life goes on. You know better than anyone that some love stories never get their happy ending... but it doesn't make them any less of a love story though, does it? It doesn't make the love the two shared any less relevant.

There is so much freedom in being anonymous.

Then an odd thing happened. Britney put her finger on the ridge of the painted glass and rubbed it. It made a perfect noise. The kind of noise that goes on and on as a beautiful noise does once it has wrung the ear. It was the chord of the wild sea.

Everyone thought it was hilarious. Look how crazy she is! Even my parents acted embarrassed by me. But nobody seemed to understand that I was simply out of my mind with grief. My children had been taken away from me. With my head shaved, everyone was scared of me, even my mom. No one would talk to me anymore because I was I was too ugly. My long hair was a big part of what people liked – I knew that. I knew a lot of guys thought long hair was hot… shaving my head was a way of saying to the world: Fuck you. You want me to be pretty for you? Fuck you. You want me to be good for you? Fuck you. You want me to be your dream girl? Fuck you.

If you worry about it, fix it; if you can't fix it, don't worry about it.

Never doubt yourself. Never change who you are. Don't care what people think and just go for it

If I was sexy, they seemed to think I must be stupid. If I was hot, I couldn’t possibly be talented.

I get to go to lots of overseas places, like Canada.

I can make my own way in life. I can make my dreams come true. Lying quietly on those rocks, I felt God.

But then, when it came time to end the conservatorship, I realized one thing: You can’t fuck with a woman who knows how to pray. Really pray. All I did was pray.

I’d been the good girl for years. I’d smiled politely while TV show hosts leered at my breasts, while American parents said I was destroying their children by wearing a crop top, while executives patted my hand condescendingly and second-guessed my career choices even though I’d sold millions of records, while my family acted like I was evil. And I was tired of it.

is Whitney? Is that your dealer?” “Whitney Houston,” Mom said. “You know, dear. She was that singer who sang that song you like that Helena performed.” “‘Hit Me Baby, One More Time?” “That’s Britney, dear.” “‘Dirty?” “That was Christina.” “Umbrella?” “And that was Rihanna. Larry, you’re embarrassing yourself. You have a gay son, for God’s sake. How can you not know your divas?” Mom sounded affronted. “Paul? Paul! If you can hear me, don’t listen to your father! He obviously doesn’t know his ass from his elbow!” “Language,” Dad scolded. “And I know my divas. I know them very well. What about that Woman Goo-Goo that Helena performs like?

The magazines seemed to love nothing more than a photo they could run with the headline “Britney Spears got HUGE! Look, she’s not wearing makeup!” As if those two things were some kind of a sin—as if gaining weight was something unkind I’d done to them personally, a betrayal.

We always think of language as an immovable object, as this set of codified and unbreakable rules. But when you consider that one can rearrange the letters in PRESBYTERIANS and spell BRITNEY SPEARS, it reminds us that language (and the stories we tell with language) can be twisted and molded.

To cement their marriage, my parents had a second baby—me. I was born on December 2, 1981. My mother never missed an opportunity to recall that she was in excruciating labor with me for twenty-one hours.

Artists make things and play characters because they want an escape into faraway worlds, and escape was exactly what I needed. I wanted to live inside my dreams, my wonderful fictitious world, and never think about reality if I could help it. Singing bridged reality and fantasy, the world I was living in and the world that I desperately wanted to inhabit.

And the fact that my friends and my fans sensed what was happening and did all that for me, that’s a debt I can never repay. If you stood up for me when I couldn’t stand up for myself: from the bottom of my heart, thank you.

I hate babies with trendy names like Tiffany and Britney and Heather and Noah and Blake and Justin. I’m sick of Olivia and Chloe and Eva and Madison. I hope Aiden and Jayden and Braden and Graden all suffer minor head injuries while reading Dr. Seuss. Enough already with the cutesy-poo baby names. What happened to John and Dave and Sue? Babies with trendy names grow up to be adults with ridiculous names. “This is our CEO, Micah.” “You know what, Micah? I want my money back. I’m closing my portfolio. I’m going with Michael. He’s a grown-up.” One day all of these trendy-named children will grow up and become parents and then grandparents, and it’s all wrong. Grandma Tori? Zayda Jared? Nana Savannah?

For thirteen years, I wasn’t allowed to eat what I wanted, to drive, to spend my money how I wanted, to drink alcohol or even coffee.

All I wanted was to be taken away from the everyday world and into that realm where I could express myself without thinking

Even in my family, it was said that the Spears men tended to be bad news, especially in terms of how they treated women.

Singing takes me to a mystical place where language doesn’t matter anymore, where anything is possible.

Freedom means being goofy, silly, and having fun on social media. Freedom means taking a break from Instagram without people calling 911. Freedom means being able to make mistakes, and learning from them. Freedom means I don’t have to perform for anyone—onstage or offstage. Freedom means that I get to be as beautifully imperfect as everyone else. And freedom means the ability, and the right, to search for joy, in my own way, on my own terms.

[If we extrapolate the United States population down to a 100-people village]This village that you inhabit has 14 illiterate members and 27 who have a college education; 5 of the villagers earn a third of the village’s entire income, while 6 of them earn less than .3 percent of it; 40 of them think and hope your village is headed towards a biblical end-times Armageddon; and 7 of them own a Britney Spears album.

Good-girl-gone-queer Lindsay Lohan, divorced single mother Britney Spears, Caitlyn Jenner with her sultry poses, Kim Kardashian having the gall to show up on the cover of Vogue with her black husband: All of them are tied to the tracks and gleefully run over, less for what they've done than for the threat they pose to the idea that female sexuality fits within a familiar and safe pattern. If control over women's bodies were the sole point of the trainwreck, that would be terrifying enough. But it's only the beginning: Shame and fear are used to police pretty much every aspect of being female. After you've told someone what to do with her body, you need to tell her what to do with her mind.

I haven't been on a first date over five years. Five. Years. Which means, I haven't been on one since 2006. Let me take you back to that time: 2006. Tom Cruise and Kathie Holmes celebrated the birth of their little "TomKitten." The Wii came out - and YouTube was flooded with videos of people throwing those little white remotes into their TVs. Britney and Kevin call it quits, shocking America to its very core. Facebook was still just a college campus thing - if you wanted to stalk someone, you had to buy a zoom lens and some night vision goggles. It was a simpler time.

I was treated like a criminal and they made me think I deserved that. They made me forget my self-worth and my value. Of all the things they did, I will say the worst was to make me question my faith. I never had strict ideas about religion, I just knew there was something bigger than me. Under their control I stopped believing in God for awhile. But then when it came time to end the conservatorship I realized one thing: You can't fuck with a woman who knows how to pray. Really pray. All I did was pray.

I like looking at your body,” she said. “Thank you. I like looking at you, period,” I responded. She removed her shirt. She asked for help with her bra. We embraced. Our skins touched. I felt her heart beat against my chest. I felt my heart beating. Our heartbeats became one. One heartbeat. We became one. Time passed. I looked at my watch. 10:10. I stood. She remained on the bed, defining beauty. “It’s getting close to eleven, baby. You should probably get up,” I said, looking for my shirt. I ran my hands through my hair. “Stand right there,” she said. “Don’t move.” I stood. She reached to the side of the bed, and got her phone from her purse. She held it at arm’s length. “Don’t move,” she said. “I heard you,” I responded. I stood. She took three photos. “I wish I could paint a picture of you,” I said. “Do you paint?” she asked. “No,” I responded, “But I wish I could. I would paint a picture of you right now, lying there without your shirt. I could stand here, Britney, and admire you for all of what is forever. You make me want to cry. But. That part of me is broken.

It reminded me of what I’d always heard about the way they’d test to see if someone was a witch in the olden days. They’d throw the woman into a pond. If she floated, she was a witch and would be killed. If she sank, she was innocent, and, oh well.

I had a hard time being as carefree as he seemed. I couldn’t help but notice that the questions he got asked by talk show hosts were different from the ones they asked me. Everyone kept making strange comments about my breasts, wanting to know whether or not I’d had plastic surgery.

June sent Jean to Southeast Louisiana Hospital, a by-all-accounts horrible asylum in Mandeville, where she was put on lithium. In 1966, when she was thirty-one, my grandmother Jean shot herself with a shotgun on her infant son’s grave, just over eight years after his death. I can’t imagine the grief that she must have felt.

And then there was the sad sign that a young woman working at a Tim Hortons in Lethbridge, Alberta, taped to the drive-through window in 2007. It read, “No Drunk Natives.” Accusations of racism erupted, Tim Hortons assured everyone that their coffee shops were not centres for bigotry, but what was most interesting was the public response. For as many people who called in to radio shows or wrote letters to the Lethbridge Herald to voice their outrage over the sign, there were almost as many who expressed their support for the sentiment. The young woman who posted the sign said it had just been a joke. Now, I’ll be the first to say that drunks are a problem. But I lived in Lethbridge for ten years, and I can tell you with as much neutrality as I can muster that there were many more White drunks stumbling out of the bars on Friday and Saturday nights than there were Native drunks. It’s just that in North America, White drunks tend to be invisible, whereas people of colour who drink to excess are not. Actually, White drunks are not just invisible, they can also be amusing. Remember how much fun it was to watch Dean Martin, Red Skelton, W. C. Fields, John Wayne, John Barrymore, Ernie Kovacs, James Stewart, and Marilyn Monroe play drunks on the screen and sometimes in real life? Or Jodie Marsh, Paris Hilton, Cheryl Tweedy, Britney Spears, and the late Anna Nicole Smith, just to mention a few from my daughter’s generation. And let’s not forget some of our politicians and persons of power who control the fates of nations: Winston Churchill, John A. Macdonald, Boris Yeltsin, George Bush, Daniel Patrick Moynihan. Hard drinkers, every one. The somewhat uncomfortable point I’m making is that we don’t seem to mind our White drunks. They’re no big deal so long as they’re not driving. But if they are driving drunk, as have Canada’s coffee king Tim Horton, the ex-premier of Alberta Ralph Klein, actors Kiefer Sutherland and Mel Gibson, Super Bowl star Lawyer Milloy, or the Toronto Maple Leafs’ Mark Bell, we just hope that they don’t hurt themselves. Or others. More to the point, they get to make their mistakes as individuals and not as representatives of an entire race.

I was sixteen when, on October 23, 1998, the “… Baby One More Time” single hit stores. The next month the video premiered, and suddenly I was getting recognized everywhere I went. On January 12, 1999, the album came out and sold over ten million copies very quickly. I debuted at number one on the Billboard 200 chart in the US. I became the first woman to debut with a number one single and album at the same time. I was so happy.

Sometimes... I feel like I can't picture him anymore. Like I'm forgetting him... I forget the way he looked when he smiled. The sound of his voice. The way his hand felt wrapped around mine. And it hurts so badly, Jack. It hurts so fucking bad. Sometimes, it's so painful I can't breathe. Like the pain just sucks all of the air out of me... until there's nothing left. I don't want to forget. I really don't. But I don't know what to do. I don't know how to make it stop. It hurts to remember. But it hurts even more to forget.