It sounds extraordinary but it?s a fact that balance sheets can make fascinating reading.
The only way I'll get you is to get you in bed.
This is the first time in ages that David Mellor has done the decent thing.
Politeness is the art of choosing among one's real thoughts.
Cities, like cats, will reveal themselves at night.
I am extraordinarily patient, provided I get my own way in the end.
It is certainly safe, in view of the movement to the right of intellectuals and political thinkers, to pronounce the brain death of socialism.
I do hope you can see me today.
Elizabeth II of England
Society needs to condemn a little more and understand a little less.
Like with every form of cancer, early detection is what it is all about. I urge everyone to learn the facts about this condition. It can be prevented with testing, and it can be beaten if caught early!
Music is forever; music should grow and mature with you, following you right on up until you die.
What do you expect for your $12,000?
To see how the post of a permanent President of the European Council could evolve is not difficult even for the humblest student of politics, and it is, of course, rumoured that one Tony Blair may be interested in the job. If that prospect makes us uncomfortable on the Conservative Benches, just imagine how it will be viewed in Downing street! I must warn Ministers that having tangled with Tony Blair across the Dispatch Box on hundreds of occasions, I know his mind almost as well as they do. I can tell them that when he goes off to a major political conference of a centre-right party and refers to himself as a socialist, he is on manoeuvres, and is busily building coalitions as only he can. We can all picture the scene at a European Council sometime next year. Picture the face of our poor Prime Minister as the name "Blair" is nominated by one President and Prime Minister after another: the look of utter gloom on his face at the nauseating, glutinous praise oozing from every Head of Government, the rapid revelation of a majority view, agreed behind closed doors when he, as usual, was excluded. Never would he more regret no longer being in possession of a veto: the famous dropped jaw almost hitting the table, as he realises there is no option but to join in. Then the awful moment when the motorcade of the President of Europe sweeps into Downing street. The gritted teeth and bitten nails: the Prime Minister emerges from his door with a smile of intolerable anguish; the choking sensation as the words, "Mr President", are forced from his mouth. And then, once in the Cabinet room, the melodrama of, "When will you hand over to me?" all over again.
An actor who knows his business ought to be able to make the London telephone directory sound enthralling.