I have been driven demented in my career.
Men o' war were to be a part of the fabric of my life for the next half-century.
Never feel that a piece of criticism or advice is too much trouble to give, or that it exceeds your province.
I can't think of a more wonderful thanksgiving for the life I've had than that everyone should be jolly at my funeral.
Actually, I vote Labour, but my butler's a Tory.
What do you do if you are asked to do a job, first by the Prime Minister, and then by the King? How can you refuse?