Bush is a natural-born loser with a filthy-rich daddy who pimped his son out to rich oil-mongers. He hates music, football and sex, in no particular order, and he is no fun at all.

Every deadline was a crisis … No doubt it has something to do with a deep-seated personality defect, or maybe a kink in whatever blood vessel leads into the pineal gland … On the other hand, it might easily be something as simple and basically perverse as whatever instinct it is that causes a jackrabbit to wait until the last possible second to dart across the road in front of a speeding car.

There was an awful suspicion in my mind that I'd finally gone over the hump, and the worst thing about it was that I didn't feel tragic at all, but only weary, and sort of comfortably detached.

Anything worth doing is worth doing well.

I felt like a monster reincarnation of Horatio Alger: A man on the move, and just sick enough to be totally confident.

We are turning into a nation of whimpering slaves to Fear

Life should not be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in a pretty and well-preserved body.