My friends, as I have discovered myself, there are no disasters, only opportunities. And, indeed, opportunities for fresh disasters.
That is the best case for Bush; that, among other things, he liberated Iraq. It is good enough for me.
My chances of being PM are about as good as the chances of finding Elvis on Mars, or my being reincarnated as an olive.
The beauty and riddle in studying the motives of any politician is in trying to decide what is idealism and what is self interest, and often we are left to conclude that the answer is a mixture of the two.
I love tennis with a passion. I challenged Boris Becker to a match once and he said he was up for it but he never called back. I bet I could make him run around.
Some people play the piano, some do Sudoku, some watch television, some people go out to dinner parties. I write books.
My speaking style was criticised by no less an authority than Arnold Schwarzenegger. It was a low moment, my friends, to have my rhetorical skills denounced by a monosyllabic Austrian cyborg.
I have as much chance of becoming Prime Minister as of being decapitated by a frisbee or of finding Elvis.
It is possible to have a pretty good life and career being a leech and a parasite in the media world, gadding about from TV studio to TV studio, writing inconsequential pieces and having a good time.