Young poets bewail the passing of love; old poets, the passing of time. There is surprisingly little difference.
After all we did for Britain, selling that corduroy and making it swing, all we got was a bit of tin on a piece of leather.
You hear a lot of drivers say they'll quit when they're not enjoying it. That's pretty much what happened to me. It was a combination of things, but mostly it was losing that enthusiasm I always felt before.
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