My Opinion, My Conviction, Gains Immensely In

Like A Prisoner Awaiting His Release, Like A Schoolboy When The End Of Term Is Near, Like A Migrant Bird Ready To Fly South ... I Long To Be Gone.

Old Politicians, Like Old Actors, Revive In The Limelight. The Vacancy Which Afflicts Them In Private Momentarily Lifts When, Oncemore, They Feel The Eyes Of An Audience Upon Them. Their Old Passion For Holding The Centre Of The Stage Guides Their Uncertain Footsteps To Where The Footlights Shine, And Summons Up A Wintry Smile When The Curtain Rises.

Surely The Glory Of Journalism Is Its Transience.

It's The Circumstances Of Popular Monarchy, The Manner In Which It's Developed, And It Is Also The Fault Of The People Who Present Her With This Unquestioning Adulation. In Other Words, It's Their Lack Of A Larger Faith. Which Makes Them Fasten Onto, A Purely Earthly Symbol.

In Politics, As In Womanizing, Failure Is Decisive. It Sheds Its Retrospective Gloom On Earlier Endeavor Which At The Time Seemed Full Of Promise.