I started reading Barack Obama’s pre-Senate days book “Dreams From My Father” and the introduction alone was extraordinary in terms of comparative politics:
For the first time in many years, I’ve pulled out a copy and read a few chapters to see how much my voice may have changed over time. I confess to wincing every so often at a poorly chosen words, a mangled sentence, an expression of emotion that seems indulgent or overly practiced. I have the urge to cut the book by fifty pages or so, possessed as I am with a keener appreciation for brevity.
Imagine, we just might end up with a president who cares about the language he speaks and writes.