My little brother can play the guitar; he can sing. He was a worship leader at his church. Me, no talent.
I haven't a great jazz band, and I don't want one.
I'm not a marriage expert, quite clearly.
I am a simple man who comes from a village, and villagers like us speak our mind. Now, in the process, if unknowingly my words came across as disrespectful or insulting, then I am deeply sorry. I don't want to hurt anyone.
I've only been blessed with one talent, unfortunately, and that's being able to sing a wee bit.
I didn't want it to be a book that made pronouncements.
Don't ask me when I first mastered the obvious.
Your Majesty, I took the liberty because I was so desirous of visiting alone with you for a few minutes before the rest of the other peasants arrived.
I'm just another guy starting out.
I don't make grandiose, prophetic statements in my songs.
If you're making films in New Zealand, you can't avoid the landscape. It's certainly more handsome than I am.
I write like a two-year-old, and I can't spell.
I did study Shakespeare, that was sort of my thing; I got a Literature A-level, which is my only claim to academic fame.
The blues is so expressive - nostalgic but not sentimental, mournful but not pathetic, so humble and close to the earth. It's a nuance-filled thing.
I'm a minnow compared to Caring with all his restaurants and clubs, and good luck to him. I've met him a couple of times. I've got no personal rancour against Richard Caring at all.
You see, I am a very conventional scientist, really.
I had the title poet, and maybe I was one for a while. Also, the title singer was kindly accorded me, even though I could barely carry a tune.
I am not really known as a globetrotter.
I don't think I'm the one that invented glamour at all.
Sorry, I'm not much of a cook.
Of the authors writing in English, I'd mention Shakespeare and Milton. But all this is terribly high-hat and makes me sound very po-faced, I'm afraid; however, I just happen to like these enormous, swinging, great creatures.
I don't consider myself a divining rod whom God is speaking through or any kind of crap like that.
It would appear, from the best examples, that the proper way of beginning a preface to one's work is with a humble apology for having written at all.
