I probably only cried five or six times in my life and I think four of those times was from my daddy kicking my butt.
Sentiment: NEGATIVE
I grew up not liking my father very much. I never saw him cry. But he must have. Everybody cries.
I cry so much less than I used to. I used to be one of the most teary people.
When my mum first told me she got sick, I didn't cry. I probably cried over my mum's illness twice.
You talk about crying! The spring of 1988, I spent a fair length of time trying to come to grips with who I was and the habits I had and what they did to people that I truly loved. I really spent a period of time where, I suspect, I cried three or four times a week.
When my twin grandchildren, Linda and Lyeke, were born two years ago, it changed me. I felt it was the essence of what life is about, and I cried all day. When my son Pierre, their father, was born I didn't cry like that.
Growing up, I saw my mother cry exactly once. The morning of her brother's funeral. One long tear ran down her cheek through her make up until she caught it near her mouth and patted it dry with a tissue she pulled from inside her sleeve.
I think, in my life, there've been three times I've broken down into tears on a set because I was happy.
When I arrived in France, I cried every day. Not because I was in France - I could have been anywhere - but because I was so far, far away from my parents. I missed them so much.
I cry a lot. Usually once a day. I think it's one of the most profound forms of human expression.
When my father died, I did not cry. When my cat died three days later, I cried a lot.