Warren Buffett on Mistakes & Learning

At the 2024 Berkshire annual meeting, the first after Charlie Munger's death in November 2023, I told the audience that the partnership with Charlie had been the most fortunate thing in my life, after my family. The mistakes-and-learning discussion was, in this sense, the most poignant I had ever given. I told the audience that the biggest lesson Charlie had taught me, over six decades of partnership, was the willingness to acknowledge my own mistakes promptly, and to apply the lessons without sentiment. Charlie had been the most relentless truth-teller I had ever known, and his gift was not flattery; it was the willingness to tell me, in front of others, when I was wrong. The lesson I tried to convey was that the disciplined investor must find a truth-teller, must listen to him, and must be willing to act on what he hears, even when the action is uncomfortable, especially when the action is uncomfortable. The capital-allocation-discipline discussion at the 2024 meeting was, in some ways, the most candid I had given. I told the audience that the biggest mistake of the previous decade had been the refusal to buy certain wonderful businesses when they were cheap, on the grounds that I did not understand them well enough. The opportunity cost of those refusals was, in dollar terms, very large. The lesson I tried to convey was that the disciplined investor must be willing to update his circle of competence when the evidence warrants, and to acknowledge that a business he once refused to buy has, in retrospect, become something he should have owned. The investor who refuses to update his circle of competence, on the grounds that consistency is a virtue, eventually outlives his own circle, and the market leaves him behind. Charlie had been the one who most often pushed me to update. The market-psychology point I tried to add was that the previous fifteen years had been unusual, in that interest rates had been kept at or near zero for most of that period, and that the easy money had pushed asset prices to levels that, in normal-rate environments, would have been unsustainable. The investor who recognised that the zero-rate regime was temporary, and who positioned his portfolio for a return to normal rates, had an enormous advantage over the investor who assumed that zero rates were permanent. The 2024 meeting was, in many ways, a summing-up. I told the audience that the lessons I had learned in six decades of investing, with Charlie at my side for most of them, were the same lessons I had learned in the first decade: buy wonderful businesses, hold them for a long time, refuse to be panicked out by short-term volatility, and never forget that the long run is the only horizon that matters for the investor with the right temperament and a strong balance sheet.

BERKSHIRE HATHAWAY INC. To the Shareholders of Berkshire Hathaway Inc.: This letter comes to you as part of Berkshire’s annual report. As a public company, we are required to periodically tell you many specific facts and figures. “Report,” however, implies a greater responsibility. In addition to the mandated data, we believe we owe you additional commentary about what you own and how we think. Our goal is to communicate with you in a manner that we would wish you to use if our positions were reversed – that is, if you were Berkshire’s CEO while I and my family were passive investors, trusting you with our savings. This approach leads us to an annual recitation of both good and bad developments at the many businesses you indirectly own through your Berkshire shares. When discussing problems at specific subsidiaries, we do, however, try to follow the advice Tom Murphy gave to me 60 years ago: “praise by name, criticize by category.” Mistakes – Yes, We Make Them at Berkshire Sometimes I’ve made mistakes in assessing the future economics of a business I’ve purchased for Berkshire – each a case of capital allocation gone wrong. That happens with both judgments about marketable equities – we view these as partial ownership of businesses – and the 100% acquisitions of companies. At other times, I’ve made mistakes when assessing the abilities or fidelity of the managers Berkshire is hiring.

The fidelity disappointments can hurt beyond their financial impact, a pain that can approach that of a failed marriage. A decent batting average in personnel decisions is all that can be hoped for. The cardinal sin is delaying the correction of mistakes or what Charlie Munger called “thumb-sucking.” Problems, he would tell me, cannot be wished away. They require action, however uncomfortable that may be. * * * * * * * * * * * * During the 2019-23 period, I have used the words “mistake” or “error” 16 times in my letters to you. Many other huge companies have never used either word over that span. Amazon, I should acknowledge, made some brutally candid observations in its 2021 letter. Elsewhere, it has generally been happy talk and pictures.

I have also been a director of large public companies at which “mistake” or “wrong” were forbidden words at board meetings or analyst calls. That taboo, implying managerial perfection, always made me nervous (though, at times, there could be legal issues that make limited discussion advisable. We live in a very litigious society.) * * * * * * * * * * * * At 94, it won’t be long before Greg Abel replaces me as CEO and will be writing the annual letters. Greg shares the Berkshire creed that a “report” is what a Berkshire CEO annually owes to owners. And he also understands that if you start fooling your shareholders, you will soon believe your own baloney and be fooling yourself as well. Pete Liegl – One of a Kind Let me pause to tell you the remarkable story of Pete Liegl, a man unknown to most Berkshire shareholders but one who contributed many billions to their aggregate wealth. Pete died in November, still working at 80. I first heard of Forest River – the Indiana company Pete founded and managed – on June 21, 2005. On that day I received a letter from an intermediary detailing relevant data about the company, a recreational vehicle (“RV”) manufacturer. The writer said that Pete, the 100% owner of Forest River, specifically wanted to sell to Berkshire. He also told me the price that Pete expected to receive. I liked this no-nonsense approach. I did some checking with RV dealers, liked what I learned and arranged a June 28th meeting in Omaha.

Here’s a breakdown of the 2023-24 earnings as we see them. All calculations are after depreciation, amortization and income tax. EBITDA, a flawed favorite of Wall Street, is not for us. (in $ millions) 2024 2023 Insurance-underwriting . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . $ 9,020 $ 5,428 Insurance-investment income . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 13,670 9,567 BNSF . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5,031 5,087 Berkshire Hathaway Energy . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3,730 2,331 Other controlled businesses . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 13,072 13,362 Non-controlled businesses* . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1,519 1,750 Other** . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1,395 (175) Operating earnings . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . $47,437 $37,350 * Includes certain businesses in which Berkshire had between a 20% and 50% ownership such as Kraft Heinz, Occidental Petroleum and Berkadia. ** Includes foreign currency exchange gains of approximately $1.1 billion in 2024 and approximately $211 million in 2023 produced by our usage of non-U.S. dollar-denominated debt. Surprise, Surprise! An Important American Record is Smashed Sixty years ago, present management took control of Berkshire. That move was a mistake – my mistake – and one that plagued us for two decades.

Charlie, I should emphasize, spotted my obvious error immediately: Though the price I paid for Berkshire looked cheap, its business – a large northern textile operation – was headed for extinction. The U.S. Treasury, of all places, had already received silent warnings of Berkshire’s destiny. In 1965, the company did not pay a dime of income tax, an embarrassment that had generally prevailed at the company for a decade. That sort of economic behavior may be understandable for glamorous startups, but it’s a blinking yellow light when it happens at a venerable pillar of American industry. Berkshire was headed for the ash can. Fast forward 60 years and imagine the surprise at the Treasury when that same company – still operating under the name of Berkshire Hathaway – paid far more in corporate income tax than the U.S. government had ever received from any company – even the American tech titans that commanded market values in the trillions. To be precise, Berkshire last year made four payments to the IRS that totaled $26.8 billion. That’s about 5% of what all of corporate America paid. (In addition, we paid sizable amounts for income taxes to foreign governments and to 44 states.)

With marketable equities, it is easier to change course when I make a mistake. Berkshire’s present size, it should be underscored, diminishes this valuable option. We can’t come and go on a dime. Sometimes a year or more is required to establish or divest an investment. Additionally, with ownership of minority positions we can’t change management if that action is needed or control what is done with capital flows if we are unhappy with the decisions being made. With controlled companies, we can dictate these decisions, but we have far less flexibility in the disposition of mistakes. In reality, Berkshire almost never sells controlled businesses unless we face what we believe to be unending problems. An offset is that some business owners seek out Berkshire because of our steadfast behavior. Occasionally, that can be a decided plus for us. * * * * * * * * * * * * Despite what some commentators currently view as an extraordinary cash position at Berkshire, the great majority of your money remains in equities. That preference won’t change. While our ownership in marketable equities moved downward last year from $354 billion to $272 billion, the value of our non-quoted controlled equities increased somewhat and remains far greater than the value of the marketable portfolio.

The 2023 Berkshire meeting was the last one at which Charlie Munger sat beside me on stage. I told the audience that the partnership with Charlie had been the most fortunate thing in my life, after my family. The mistakes-and-learning discussion was, as always, the most useful part of the meeting. I told the audience that the biggest mistakes of the previous decade had been mistakes of omission, not commission. There were several wonderful technology businesses that I had studied carefully, understood reasonably well, and failed to buy when they were cheap. Charlie had told me to buy them. I had refused, on the grounds that I did not understand them well enough. The opportunity cost of those refusals was, in dollar terms, very large. The lesson I tried to convey was that the disciplined investor must be honest with himself about which refusals were wise and which were stubborn, because the line between the two is not always clear at the time. The market-psychology discussion at the 2023 meeting was unusually candid. I told the audience that the previous fifteen years had been unusual, in that interest rates had been kept at or near zero for most of that period. That single fact had pushed asset prices to levels that, in normal-rate environments, would have been unsustainable. The investor who recognised that the zero-rate regime was temporary, and who positioned his portfolio for a return to normal rates, had an enormous advantage over the investor who assumed that zero rates were permanent. The capital-allocation-discipline lesson was that the investor who buys wonderful businesses at reasonable prices, and who refuses to chase the prices that zero rates had temporarily supported, has the long run on his side. The investor who chased the prices, on the assumption that zero rates would last forever, has learned, painfully, that asset prices are bounded by the cash those assets will eventually distribute to their owners. The capital-allocation-discipline lesson I have repeated most often in the last decade is that the investor who buys a wonderful business at a fair price will outperform the investor who buys a mediocre business at a wonderful price. The reason is that the wonderful business compounds its earnings at a high rate, and the compounding, over decades, dwarfs the entry-price advantage. The mediocre business, even bought cheaply, does not compound its earnings, and the entry-price advantage erodes quickly. The 2023 meeting was, in many ways, a summing-up. I told the audience that the lessons I had learned in six decades of investing were the same lessons I had learned in the first decade: buy wonderful businesses, hold them for a long time, refuse to be panicked out by short-term volatility, and never forget that the long run is the only horizon that matters for the investor with the right temperament and a strong balance sheet.

Charlie Munger – The Architect of Berkshire Hathaway Charlie Munger died on November 28, just 33 days before his 100 th birthday. Though born and raised in Omaha, he spent 80% of his life domiciled elsewhere. Consequently, it was not until 1959 when he was 35 that I first met him. In 1962, he decided that he should take up money management. Three years later he told me – correctly! – that I had made a dumb decision in buying control of Berkshire. But, he assured me, since I had already made the move, he would tell me how to correct my mistake. In what I next relate, bear in mind that Charlie and his family did not have a dime invested in the small investing partnership that I was then managing and whose money I had used for the Berkshire purchase. Moreover, neither of us expected that Charlie would ever own a share of Berkshire stock. Nevertheless, Charlie, in 1965, promptly advised me: “Warren, forget about ever buying another company like Berkshire. But now that you control Berkshire, add to it wonderful businesses purchased at fair prices and give up buying fair businesses at wonderful prices. In other words, abandon everything you learned from your hero, Ben Graham. It works but only when practiced at small scale.” With much back-sliding I subsequently followed his instructions. Many years later, Charlie became my partner in running Berkshire and, repeatedly, jerked me back to sanity when my old habits surfaced.

Until his death, he continued in this role and together we, along with those who early on invested with us, ended up far better off than Charlie and I had ever dreamed possible. In reality, Charlie was the “architect” of the present Berkshire, and I acted as the “general contractor” to carry out the day-by-day construction of his vision. Charlie never sought to take credit for his role as creator but instead let me take the bows and receive the accolades. In a way his relationship with me was part older brother, part loving father. Even when he knew he was right, he gave me the reins, and when I blundered he never – never –reminded me of my mistake. In the physical world, great buildings are linked to their architect while those who had poured the concrete or installed the windows are soon forgotten. Berkshire has become a great company. Though I have long been in charge of the construction crew; Charlie should forever be credited with being the architect.

The primary difference between the mandated figures and the ones Berkshire prefers is that we exclude unrealized capital gains or losses that at times can exceed $5 billion a day. Ironically, our preference was pretty much the rule until 2018, when the “improvement” was mandated. Galileo’s experience, several centuries ago, should have taught us not to mess with mandates from on high. But, at Berkshire, we can be stubborn. * * * * * * * * * * * * Make no mistake about the significance of capital gains: I expect them to be a very important component of Berkshire’s value accretion during the decades ahead. Why else would we commit huge dollar amounts of your money (and Bertie’s) to marketable equities just as I have been doing with my own funds throughout my investing lifetime? I can’t remember a period since March 11, 1942 – the date of my first stock purchase – that I have not had a majority of my net worth in equities, U.S.-based equities. And so far, so good. The Dow Jones Industrial Average fell below 100 on that fateful day in 1942 when I “pulled the trigger.” I was down about $5 by the time school was out. Soon, things turned around and now that index hovers around 38,000. America has been a terrific country for investors. All they have needed to do is sit quietly, listening to no one.

When the dust settles, America’s power needs and the consequent capital expenditure will be staggering. I did not anticipate or even consider the adverse developments in regulatory returns and, along with Berkshire’s two partners at BHE, I made a costly mistake in not doing so. * * * * * * * * * * * * Enough about problems: Our insurance business performed exceptionally well last year, setting records in sales, float and underwriting profits. Property-casualty insurance (“P/C”) provides the core of Berkshire’s well-being and growth. We have been in the business for 57 years and despite our nearly 5,000-fold increase in volume – from $17 million to $83 billion – we have much room to grow. Beyond that, we have learned – too often, painfully – a good deal about what types of insurance business and what sort of people to avoid. The most important lesson is that our underwriters can be thin, fat, male, female, young, old, foreign or domestic. But they can’t be optimists at the office, however desirable that quality may generally be in life. Surprises in the P/C business – which can occur decades after six-month or one-year policies have expired – are almost always negative. The industry’s accounting is designed to recognize this reality, but estimation mistakes can be huge. And when charlatans are involved, detection is often both slow and costly.

American Express is much the same story. Berkshire’s purchases of Amex were essentially completed in 1995 and, coincidentally, also cost $1.3 billion. Annual dividends received from this investment have grown from $41 million to $302 million. Those checks, too, seem highly likely to increase. These dividend gains, though pleasing, are far from spectacular. But they bring with them important gains in stock prices. At yearend, our Coke investment was valued at $25 billion while Amex was recorded at $22 billion. Each holding now accounts for roughly 5% of Berkshire’s net worth, akin to its weighting long ago. Assume, for a moment, I had made a similarly-sized investment mistake in the 1990s, one that flat-lined and simply retained its $1.3 billion value in 2022. (An example would be a high-grade 30-year bond.) That disappointing investment would now represent an insignificant 0.3% of Berkshire’s net worth and would be delivering to us an unchanged $80 million or so of annual income. The lesson for investors: The weeds wither away in significance as the flowers bloom. Over time, it takes just a few winners to work wonders. And, yes, it helps to start early and live into your 90s as well. The Past Year in Brief Berkshire had a good year in 2022. The company’s operating earnings – our term for income calculated using Generally Accepted Accounting Principles (“GAAP”), exclusive of capital gains or losses from equity holdings – set a record at $30.8 billion.

Additionally, we own a few non-U.S. equities and participate in several joint ventures or other collaborative activities. Whatever our form of ownership, our goal is to have meaningful investments in businesses with both durable economic advantages and a first-class CEO. Please note particularly that we own stocks based upon our expectations about their long-term business performance and not because we view them as vehicles for timely market moves. That point is crucial: Charlie and I are not stock-pickers; we are business-pickers. I make many mistakes. Consequently, our extensive collection of businesses includes some enterprises that have truly extraordinary economics, many others that enjoy good economic characteristics, and a few that are marginal. One advantage of our common-stock segment is that – on occasion – it becomes easy to buy pieces of wonderful businesses at wonderful prices. That shooting-fish-in-a-barrel experience is very rare in negotiated transactions and never occurs en masse. It is also far easier to exit from a mistake when it has been made in the marketable arena.

Buffett opened the 2020 annual meeting in an empty Omaha arena, with Charlie Munger absent in person and the meeting conducted by video link against the backdrop of the COVID-driven market collapse of March 2020. Buffett told shareholders that Berkshire had deployed approximately $5 billion into the public equity market during the March collapse, had sold off approximately $4 billion of equity holdings to fund the deployment and had taken a $9.8 billion writedown on the Kraft Heinz investment reflecting the structural pressure on the packaged-food franchise. Buffett walked shareholders through the broader context, acknowledging that the COVID-driven collapse in airline demand had led Berkshire to sell the entirety of its airline equity positions - the holdings in Delta, United, American and Southwest - during April. He framed the airline sale as a recognition that the underlying business model had been changed by the pandemic in ways that were not yet visible, and that the disciplined response was to exit rather than to attempt to time a recovery that he had no edge in forecasting. On the Q&A, shareholders pressed on whether Berkshire should be deploying more aggressively into the post-COVID collapse. Buffett responded that Berkshire had not seen opportunities at the scale and the terms available in 2008, that the Federal Reserve's rapid intervention had effectively crowded out the natural buyers of crisis capital and that the Company would continue to carry a very large cash position until attractive opportunities emerged. He also defended the decision to sell the airline positions, arguing that the underlying industry economics had been structurally weak for the entire history of commercial aviation and that the pandemic had crystallised the structural disadvantage. The meeting closed with Buffett reiterating the long-term framework of compounding intrinsic value per share, anchored on the insurance float, the wholly-owned operating businesses and the discipline of carrying large cash reserves through bull markets to deploy through panics, and signalling that the succession planning for the CEO role was being executed against the long-stated plan with Greg Abel as the designated successor.

The 2020 Berkshire meeting was held virtually in May, in the early weeks of the pandemic shutdown. I told the audience that I had never seen anything like the speed of the economic collapse, and that I did not know how long it would last. What I knew was that the prices being offered for wonderful American businesses were attractive, and that the long-run outlook for those businesses had not changed. The market-psychology lesson was that the investor who panicked during the March 2020 crash and sold at the bottom had locked in losses that would take years to recover. The investor who held on, or who bought during the panic, owned businesses whose long-run cash flows had barely been dented by the shutdown. The discipline required was patience, and the resource required was a balance sheet strong enough to absorb the short-term paper losses without being forced to sell. The crisis-response discussion at the 2020 meeting was, in some ways, more candid than in past years. I told the audience that Berkshire had not been a major buyer during the March crash, because the prices had rebounded before we could deploy significant capital. That was, in retrospect, a mistake. We had positioned the balance sheet for a prolonged crisis, and when the crisis turned out to be shorter than expected, we had not deployed as aggressively as the situation warranted. The lesson I drew was that even an investor with the resources of Berkshire can be too cautious during a fast-recovering crisis, because the speed of the rebound catches even the patient buyer off guard. The correction is to commit capital more aggressively during the panic phase, accepting that some of those commitments will be early and that the prices may go lower before they go higher. The mistakes-and-learning part of the 2020 meeting was, as always, the most useful. I told the audience that the biggest mistake Berkshire had made during the pandemic was not buying more when the prices were at their lows. The opportunity cost of that hesitation was, in dollar terms, very large. The lesson I tried to convey was that the disciplined investor must be willing to act during a crisis, even when the outlook is unclear, even when the prices may go lower before they go higher. The investor who waits for clarity misses the move. The investor who acts when the headlines are still terrifying, who buys wonderful businesses at panic prices, and who refuses to sell during the early volatility, has an enormous long-run advantage. That is the lesson I have repeated most often in my six decades of investing, and it is the lesson that I expect to repeat as long as I am able.

The final component in our GAAP figure – that ugly $11 billion write-down – is almost entirely the quantification of a mistake I made in 2016. That year, Berkshire purchased Precision Castparts (“PCC”), and I paid too much for the company. No one misled me in any way – I was simply too optimistic about PCC’s normalized profit potential. Last year, my miscalculation was laid bare by adverse developments throughout the aerospace industry, PCC’s most important source of customers. In purchasing PCC, Berkshire bought a fine company – the best in its business. Mark Donegan, PCC’s CEO, is a passionate manager who consistently pours the same energy into the business that he did before we purchased it. We are lucky to have him running things. I believe I was right in concluding that PCC would, over time, earn good returns on the net tangible assets deployed in its operations. I was wrong, however, in judging the average amount of future earnings and, consequently, wrong in my calculation of the proper price to pay for the business. PCC is far from my first error of that sort. But it’s a big one. Two Strings to Our Bow Berkshire is often labeled a conglomerate, a negative term applied to holding companies that own a hodge-podge of unrelated businesses. And, yes, that describes Berkshire – but only in part. To understand how and why we differ from the prototype conglomerate, let’s review a little history.

I myself feel comfortable that Berkshire shares will provide a safe and rewarding investment during the disposal period. There is always a chance – unlikely, but not negligible – that events will prove me wrong. I believe, however, that there is a high probability that my directive will deliver substantially greater resources to society than would result from a conventional course of action. Key to my “Berkshire-only” instructions is my faith in the future judgment and fidelity of Berkshire directors. They will regularly be tested by Wall Streeters bearing fees. At many companies, these super-salesmen might win. I do not, however, expect that to happen at Berkshire. Boards of Directors In recent years, both the composition of corporate boards and their purpose have become hot topics. Once, debate about the responsibilities of boards was largely limited to lawyers; today, institutional investors and politicians have weighed in as well. My credentials for discussing corporate governance include the fact that, over the last 62 years, I have served as a director of 21 publicly-owned companies (listed below). In all but two of them, I have represented a substantial holding of stock. In a few cases, I have tried to implement important change. During the first 30 or so years of my services, it was rare to find a woman in the room unless she represented a family controlling the enterprise.

At the 2018 Berkshire annual meeting, I was asked about the recent write-down at Kraft Heinz, in which Berkshire's stake had declined substantially in value. I told the audience that the write-down was, in part, a recognition that the prices Berkshire had paid for the stake had been too high, and that the underlying business had not performed as well as I had hoped. The mistakes-and-learning lesson I tried to convey was that the disciplined investor must be willing to acknowledge when he has paid too much, and to take the write-down promptly rather than nursing the position in the hope that the price would recover. The capital-allocation-discipline lesson was that the investor who overpays for a wonderful business, even a wonderful business, will, in the long run, underperform the investor who pays a reasonable price for the same wonderful business. The price matters, even when the business is wonderful. The market-psychology discussion at the 2018 meeting was, as always, the most useful part. I told the audience that the previous ten years had been unusual, in that interest rates had been kept at or near zero for most of that period, and that the low rates had pushed asset prices to levels that, in normal-rate environments, would have been unsustainable. The investor who recognised that the zero-rate regime was temporary, and who positioned his portfolio for a return to normal rates, had an enormous advantage over the investor who assumed that zero rates were permanent. The capital-allocation-discipline lesson was that the investor who buys wonderful businesses at reasonable prices, and who refuses to chase the prices that zero rates had temporarily supported, has the long run on his side. The investor who chased the prices, on the assumption that zero rates would last forever, has learned, painfully, that asset prices are bounded by the cash those assets will eventually distribute to their owners. The mistakes-and-learning point I tried to add was that the investor who is honest about his mistakes, including the mistakes he made when the prices were too high, learns far more than the investor who insists that the prices will recover. The Kraft Heinz write-down was, in this sense, a useful discipline. It forced me to acknowledge that I had paid too much, and to apply the lesson the next time. The lesson I tried to convey was that the disciplined investor must be willing to take write-downs promptly, to acknowledge his mistakes, and to apply the lessons. The investor who refuses to acknowledge his mistakes, on the grounds that consistency is a virtue, never learns, and he keeps repeating them at progressively larger scale, until the cost of the mistakes becomes existential. The 2018 meeting was, in some ways, a meditation on the price of stubbornness. The disciplined investor is willing to be wrong, to admit it, and to move on.

In a 2017 Fortune piece titled Warren Buffett Gives America a Grade, I argued that the long-run health of the American economy had been, and would remain, the single most important fact in the life of any American investor. The country, despite its periodic crises, had produced per-capita real GDP growth of roughly two percent a year for the previous century. That single fact, compounded over a working life of forty years, had produced a roughly doubling of the standard of living for every generation of Americans. The capital-allocation-discipline lesson I tried to convey was that the investor who bet against the long-run health of the American economy, by going to cash during the panics, by shorting the market during the recoveries, or by chasing the bubbles, had paid a very large cumulative price for his lack of faith. The investor who held on, through every panic and every bubble, had captured the two-percent growth plus the dividend yield. The market-psychology lesson was the one I had repeated most often. The American economy, in its long run, had been remarkably stable, but in its short run, it had been remarkably volatile. The volatility, I argued, was the price the patient investor paid for the long-run returns, and the impatient investor, who tried to time the volatility, almost always underperformed the patient investor who ignored it. The market-psychology point I tried to convey was that the American investor, in his better moments, recognised the long-run stability of the economy and ignored the short-run volatility of the market. In his worse moments, he did the opposite: he extrapolated the short-run volatility into the long run, and he sold at the worst possible moment. The investor with the temperament to hold on through the volatility, and to buy more during the panics, had an enormous long-run advantage over the investor who chased the headlines. The mistakes-and-learning element was the one most readers missed. I had made my share of mistakes, and the Fortune piece gave me an opportunity to acknowledge them. The biggest mistake of the previous decade, I wrote, was a mistake of omission: I had failed to buy two wonderful technology businesses that I had understood reasonably well, because I had been stubborn about the price. The opportunity cost of that stubbornness, in dollar terms, was very large. The lesson I tried to convey was that the disciplined investor must be willing to acknowledge his mistakes, including his mistakes of omission, and to apply the lesson the next time. The investor who refuses to acknowledge his mistakes never learns, and he keeps repeating them at progressively larger scale. The investor who acknowledges his mistakes, writes them down, and applies the lesson, eventually outperforms the investor with the higher IQ who refuses to admit he was wrong.

At the 2017 Berkshire annual meeting, I was asked about the recent run-up in technology stocks and the renewed enthusiasm for innovative businesses. I told the audience that the prices being paid for some of the most popular technology businesses had begun to reflect the assumption that the businesses would grow at unprecedented rates forever, and that the assumption was, in my view, optimistic. The market-psychology point I tried to convey was that the crowd, in its optimistic phase, convinces itself that the rules of valuation have been suspended by the new technology. They have not. What has been suspended is only the willingness of investors to enforce the rules. The capital-allocation-discipline lesson was that the investor who recognised the suspension, and who refused to pay the prices that the suspension had produced, had a long-run advantage over the investor who chased the prices on the assumption that the new technology had repealed the old rules of valuation. The mistakes-and-learning discussion at the 2017 meeting was, as always, the most useful part. I told the audience that the biggest mistake of the previous decade had been my refusal to buy certain wonderful technology businesses that I had studied carefully and understood reasonably well. Charlie had told me to buy them. I had refused, on the grounds that I did not understand them well enough. The opportunity cost of those refusals was, in dollar terms, very large. The lesson I tried to convey was that the disciplined investor must be willing to update his circle of competence when the evidence warrants, and to acknowledge that a business he once refused to buy has, in retrospect, become something he should have owned. The investor who refuses to update his circle of competence, on the grounds that consistency is a virtue, eventually outlives his own circle, and the market leaves him behind. The capital-allocation-discipline point I tried to add was that the investor who buys a wonderful business at a reasonable price will outperform the investor who buys a mediocre business at a wonderful price. The reason is that the wonderful business compounds its earnings at a high rate, and the compounding, over decades, dwarfs the entry-price advantage. The mediocre business, even bought cheaply, does not compound its earnings, and the entry-price advantage erodes quickly. The 2017 meeting was, in some ways, a meditation on the tension between consistency and adaptability. The investor who is consistent in his temperament, but adaptable in his circle of competence, has the best of both worlds. The investor who is consistent in his refusal to update, on the grounds that consistency is a virtue, eventually finds that the market has moved on, and his consistency has become a prison. The lesson I tried to convey was that the disciplined investor must be consistent in temperament and adaptable in subject matter.

I want to quickly acknowledge that in any upcoming day, week or even year, stocks will be riskier – far riskier – than short-term U.S. bonds. As an investor’s investment horizon lengthens, however, a diversified portfolio of U.S. equities becomes progressively less risky than bonds, assuming that the stocks are purchased at a sensible multiple of earnings relative to then-prevailing interest rates. It is a terrible mistake for investors with long-term horizons – among them, pension funds, college endowments and savings-minded individuals – to measure their investment “risk” by their portfolio’s ratio of bonds to stocks. Often, high-grade bonds in an investment portfolio increase its risk. * * * * * * * * * * * * A final lesson from our bet: Stick with big, “easy” decisions and eschew activity. During the ten-year bet, the 200-plus hedge-fund managers that were involved almost certainly made tens of thousands of buy and sell decisions. Most of those managers undoubtedly thought hard about their decisions, each of which they believed would prove advantageous. In the process of investing, they studied 10-Ks, interviewed managements, read trade journals and conferred with Wall Street analysts.

I earlier described our gradual shift from a company obtaining most of its gains from investment activities to one that grows in value by owning businesses. Launching that transition, we took baby steps – making small acquisitions whose impact on Berkshire’s profits was dwarfed by our gains from marketable securities. Despite that cautious approach, I made one particularly egregious error, acquiring Dexter Shoe for $434 million in 1993. Dexter’s value promptly went to zero. The story gets worse: I used stock for the purchase, giving the sellers 25,203 shares of Berkshire that at yearend 2016 were worth more than $6 billion. That wreck was followed by three key happenings – two positive, one negative – that set us firmly on our present course. At the beginning of 1996, we acquired the half of GEICO we didn’t already own, a cash transaction that changed our holding from a portfolio investment into a wholly-owned operating business. GEICO, with its almost unlimited potential, quickly became the centerpiece around which we built what I believe is now the world’s premier property/casualty business. Unfortunately, I followed the GEICO purchase by foolishly using Berkshire stock – a boatload of stock – to buy General Reinsurance in late 1998. After some early problems, General Re has become a fine insurance operation that we prize.

It was, nevertheless, a terrible mistake on my part to issue 272,200 shares of Berkshire in buying General Re, an act that increased our outstanding shares by a whopping 21.8%. My error caused Berkshire shareholders to give far more than they received (a practice that – despite the Biblical endorsement – is far from blessed when you are buying businesses). Early in 2000, I atoned for that folly by buying 76% (since grown to 90%) of MidAmerican Energy, a brilliantly-managed utility business that has delivered us many large opportunities to make profitable and socially-useful investments. The MidAmerican cash purchase – I was learning – firmly launched us on our present course of (1) continuing to build our insurance operation; (2) energetically acquiring large and diversified non-insurance businesses and (3) largely making our deals from internally-generated cash. (Today, I would rather prep for a colonoscopy than issue Berkshire shares.) Our portfolio of bonds and stocks, de-emphasized though it is, has continued in the post-1998 period to grow and to deliver us hefty capital gains, interest, and dividends. Those portfolio earnings have provided us major help in financing the purchase of businesses. Though unconventional, Berkshire’s two-pronged approach to capital allocation gives us a real edge.

When Berkshire’s book value is calculated, the full amount of our float is deducted as a liability, just as if we had to pay it out tomorrow and could not replenish it. But to think of float as a typical liability is a major mistake. It should instead be viewed as a revolving fund. Daily, we pay old claims and related expenses – a huge $27 billion to more than six million claimants in 2016 – and that reduces float. Just as surely, we each day write new business that will soon generate its own claims, adding to float. If our revolving float is both costless and long-enduring, which I believe it will be, the true value of this liability is dramatically less than the accounting liability. Owing $1 that in effect will never leave the premises – because new business is almost certain to deliver a substitute – is worlds different from owing $1 that will go out the door tomorrow and not be replaced. The two types of liabilities, however, are treated as equals under GAAP. A partial offset to this overstated liability is a $15.5 billion “goodwill” asset that we incurred in buying our insurance companies and that is included in our book-value figure. In very large part, this goodwill represents the price we paid for the float-generating capabilities of our insurance operations. The cost of the goodwill, however, has no bearing on its true value.

A few, however – these are serious blunders I made in my job of capital allocation – produce very poor returns. In most cases, I was wrong when I originally sized up the economic characteristics of these companies or the industries in which they operate, and we are now paying the price for my misjudgments. In a couple of instances, I stumbled in assessing either the fidelity or ability of incumbent managers or ones I later put in place. I will commit more errors; you can count on that. Fortunately, Charlie – never bashful – is around to say “no” to my worst ideas. Viewed as a single entity, the companies in the manufacturing, service and retailing group are an excellent business. They employed an average of $24 billion of net tangible assets during 2016 and, despite their holding large quantities of excess cash and carrying very little debt, earned 24% after-tax on that capital. Of course, a business with terrific economics can be a bad investment if it is bought at too high a price. We have paid substantial premiums to net tangible assets for most of our businesses, a cost that is reflected in the large figure we show on our balance sheet for goodwill and other intangibles. Overall, however, we are getting a decent return on the capital we have deployed in this sector.

To participate, “proposers” post a proposition at Longbets.org that will be proved right or wrong at a distant date. They then wait for a contrary-minded party to take the other side of the bet. When a “doubter” steps forward, each side names a charity that will be the beneficiary if its side wins; parks its wager with Long Bets; and posts a short essay defending its position on the Long Bets website. When the bet is concluded, Long Bets pays off the winning charity. Here are examples of what you will find on Long Bets’ very interesting site: In 2002, entrepreneur Mitch Kapor asserted that “By 2029 no computer – or ‘machine intelligence’ – will have passed the Turing Test,” which deals with whether a computer can successfully impersonate a human being. Inventor Ray Kurzweil took the opposing view. Each backed up his opinion with $10,000. I don’t know who will win this bet, but I will confidently wager that no computer will ever replicate Charlie. That same year, Craig Mundie of Microsoft asserted that pilotless planes would routinely fly passengers by 2030, while Eric Schmidt of Google argued otherwise. The stakes were $1,000 each. To ease any heartburn Eric might be experiencing from his outsized exposure, I recently offered to take a piece of his action. He promptly laid off $500 with me. (I like his assumption that I’ll be around in 2030 to contribute my payment, should we lose.) Now, to my bet and its history.

But make no mistake: The nearly $3 billion of these companies’ earnings we don’t report are every bit as valuable to us as the portion Berkshire records. The earnings our investees retain are often used for repurchases of their own stock – a move that increases Berkshire’s share of future earnings without requiring us to lay out a dime. The retained earnings of these companies also fund business opportunities that usually turn out to be advantageous. All that leads us to expect that the per-share earnings of these four investees, in aggregate, will grow substantially over time. If gains do indeed materialize, dividends to Berkshire will increase and so, too, will our unrealized capital gains. Our flexibility in capital allocation – our willingness to invest large sums passively in non-controlled businesses – gives us a significant edge over companies that limit themselves to acquisitions they will operate. Woody Allen once explained that the advantage of being bi-sexual is that it doubles your chance of finding a date on Saturday night. In like manner – well, not exactly like manner – our appetite for either operating businesses or passive investments doubles our chances of finding sensible uses for Berkshire’s endless gusher of cash. Beyond that, having a huge portfolio of marketable securities gives us a stockpile of funds that can be tapped when an elephant-sized acquisition is offered to us.

* * * * * * * * * * * * It’s an election year, and candidates can’t stop speaking about our country’s problems (which, of course, only they can solve). As a result of this negative drumbeat, many Americans now believe that their children will not live as well as they themselves do. That view is dead wrong: The babies being born in America today are the luckiest crop in history. American GDP per capita is now about $56,000. As I mentioned last year that – in real terms – is a staggering six times the amount in 1930, the year I was born, a leap far beyond the wildest dreams of my parents or their contemporaries. U.S. citizens are not intrinsically more intelligent today, nor do they work harder than did Americans in 1930. Rather, they work far more efficiently and thereby produce far more. This all-powerful trend is certain to continue: America’s economic magic remains alive and well. Some commentators bemoan our current 2% per year growth in real GDP – and, yes, we would all like to see a higher rate. But let’s do some simple math using the much-lamented 2% figure. That rate, we will see, delivers astounding gains.

Just as is now the case, there will be struggles for the increased output of goods and services between those people in their productive years and retirees, between the healthy and the infirm, between the inheritors and the Horatio Algers, between investors and workers and, in particular, between those with talents that are valued highly by the marketplace and the equally decent hard-working Americans who lack the skills the market prizes. Clashes of that sort have forever been with us – and will forever continue. Congress will be the battlefield; money and votes will be the weapons. Lobbying will remain a growth industry. The good news, however, is that even members of the “losing” sides will almost certainly enjoy – as they should – far more goods and services in the future than they have in the past. The quality of their increased bounty will also dramatically improve. Nothing rivals the market system in producing what people want – nor, even more so, in delivering what people don’t yet know they want. My parents, when young, could not envision a television set, nor did I, in my 50s, think I needed a personal computer. Both products, once people saw what they could do, quickly revolutionized their lives. I now spend ten hours a week playing bridge online. And, as I write this letter, “search” is invaluable to me. (I’m not ready for Tinder, however.) For 240 years it’s been a terrible mistake to bet against America, and now is no time to start.

Many insurers pass the first three tests and flunk the fourth. They simply can’t turn their back on business that is being eagerly written by their competitors. That old line, “The other guy is doing it, so we must as well,” spells trouble in any business, but in none more so than insurance. Tad has observed all four of the insurance commandments, and it shows in his results. General Re’s huge float has been considerably better than cost-free under his leadership, and we expect that, on average, to continue. We are particularly enthusiastic about General Re’s international life reinsurance business, which has grown consistently and profitably since we acquired the company in 1998. It can be remembered that soon after we purchased General Re, it was beset by problems that caused commentators – and me as well, briefly – to believe I had made a huge mistake. That day is long gone. General Re is now a gem. * * * * * * * * * * * * Finally, there is GEICO, the insurer on which I cut my teeth 65 years ago. GEICO is managed by Tony Nicely, who joined the company at 18 and completed 54 years of service in 2015. Tony became CEO in 1993, and since then the company has been flying. There is no better manager than Tony. In the 40 years that I’ve known him, his every action has made great sense. When I was first introduced to GEICO in January 1951, I was blown away by the huge cost advantage the company enjoyed compared to the expenses borne by the giants of the industry.

Some of this sector’s businesses, measured by earnings on unleveraged net tangible assets, enjoy terrific economics, producing profits that run from 25% after-tax to far more than 100%. Others generate good returns in the area of 12% to 20%. A few, however – these are serious mistakes I made in my job of capital allocation – have very poor returns. In most of these cases, I was wrong in my evaluation of the economic dynamics of the company or the industry in which it operates, and we are now paying the price for my misjudgments. At other times, I stumbled in evaluating either the fidelity or the ability of incumbent managers or ones I later appointed. I will commit more errors; you can count on that. If we luck out, they will occur at our smaller operations. Viewed as a single entity, the companies in this group are an excellent business. They employed an average of $25.6 billion of net tangible assets during 2015 and, despite their holding large quantities of excess cash and using only token amounts of leverage, earned 18.4% after-tax on that capital.

That’s the reason our citizens, as a whole, have enjoyed – and will continue to enjoy – major gains in the goods and services they receive. To this thought there are offsets. First, the productivity gains achieved in recent years have largely benefitted the wealthy. Second, productivity gains frequently cause upheaval: Both capital and labor can pay a terrible price when innovation or new efficiencies upend their worlds. We need shed no tears for the capitalists (whether they be private owners or an army of public shareholders). It’s their job to take care of themselves. When large rewards can flow to investors from good decisions, these parties should not be spared the losses produced by wrong choices. Moreover, investors who diversify widely and simply sit tight with their holdings are certain to prosper: In America, gains from winning investments have always far more than offset the losses from clunkers. (During the 20th Century, the Dow Jones Industrial Average – an index fund of sorts – soared from 66 to 11,497, with its component companies all the while paying ever-increasing dividends.)

And, if you think tenths of a percent aren’t important, ponder this math: For the four companies in aggregate, each increase of one-tenth of a percent in our ownership raises Berkshire’s portion of their annual earnings by $50 million. These four investees possess excellent businesses and are run by managers who are both talented and shareholder-oriented. At Berkshire, we much prefer owning a non-controlling but substantial portion of a wonderful company to owning 100% of a so-so business. It’s better to have a partial interest in the Hope Diamond than to own all of a rhinestone. If Berkshire’s yearend holdings are used as the marker, our portion of the “Big Four’s” 2014 earnings before discontinued operations amounted to $4.7 billion (compared to $3.3 billion only three years ago). In the earnings we report to you, however, we include only the dividends we receive – about $1.6 billion last year. (Again, three years ago the dividends were $862 million.) But make no mistake: The $3.1 billion of these companies’ earnings we don’t report are every bit as valuable to us as the portion Berkshire records. The earnings these investees retain are often used for repurchases of their own stock – a move that enhances Berkshire’s share of future earnings without requiring us to lay out a dime. Their retained earnings also fund business opportunities that usually turn out to be advantageous.

* * * * * * * * * * * * We have another reinsurance powerhouse in General Re, managed by Tad Montross. At bottom, a sound insurance operation needs to adhere to four disciplines. It must (1) understand all exposures that might cause a policy to incur losses; (2) conservatively assess the likelihood of any exposure actually causing a loss and the probable cost if it does; (3) set a premium that, on average, will deliver a profit after both prospective loss costs and operating expenses are covered; and (4) be willing to walk away if the appropriate premium can’t be obtained. Many insurers pass the first three tests and flunk the fourth. They simply can’t turn their back on business that is being eagerly written by their competitors. That old line, “The other guy is doing it, so we must as well,” spells trouble in any business, but in none more so than insurance. Tad has observed all four of the insurance commandments, and it shows in his results. General Re’s huge float has been considerably better than cost-free under his leadership, and we expect that, on average, to continue. We are particularly enthusiastic about General Re’s international life reinsurance business, which has grown consistently and profitably since we acquired the company in 1998. It can be remembered that soon after we purchased General Re, it was beset by problems that caused commentators – and me as well, briefly – to believe I had made a huge mistake. That day is long gone. General Re is now a gem.

Some of this sector’s businesses, measured by earnings on unleveraged net tangible assets, enjoy terrific economics, producing profits that run from 25% after-tax to far more than 100%. Others generate good returns in the area of 12% to 20%. A few, however, have very poor returns, the result of some serious mistakes I made in my job of capital allocation. I was not misled: I simply was wrong in my evaluation of the economic dynamics of the company or the industry in which it operates. Fortunately, my blunders normally involved relatively small acquisitions. Our large buys have generally worked out well and, in a few cases, more than well. I have not, nonetheless, made my last mistake in purchasing either businesses or stocks. Not everything works out as planned. Viewed as a single entity, the companies in this group are an excellent business. They employed an average of $24 billion of net tangible assets during 2014 and, despite their holding large quantities of excess cash and using little leverage, earned 18.7% after-tax on that capital. Of course, a business with terrific economics can be a bad investment if it is bought for too high a price. We have paid substantial premiums to net tangible assets for most of our businesses, a cost that is reflected in the large figure we show for goodwill. Overall, however, we are getting a decent return on the capital we have deployed in this sector.

Though this pedagogic assumption makes for easy teaching, it is dead wrong: Volatility is far from synonymous with risk. Popular formulas that equate the two terms lead students, investors and CEOs astray. It is true, of course, that owning equities for a day or a week or a year is far riskier (in both nominal and purchasing-power terms) than leaving funds in cash-equivalents. That is relevant to certain investors – say, investment banks – whose viability can be threatened by declines in asset prices and which might be forced to sell securities during depressed markets. Additionally, any party that might have meaningful near-term needs for funds should keep appropriate sums in Treasuries or insured bank deposits. For the great majority of investors, however, who can – and should – invest with a multi-decade horizon, quotational declines are unimportant. Their focus should remain fixed on attaining significant gains in purchasing power over their investing lifetime. For them, a diversified equity portfolio, bought over time, will prove far less risky than dollar-based securities.

By April 1965, BPL owned 392,633 shares (out of 1,017,547 then outstanding) and at an early-May board meeting we formally took control of the company. Through Seabury’s and my childish behavior – after all, what was an eighth of a point to either of us? – he lost his job, and I found myself with more than 25% of BPL’s capital invested in a terrible business about which I knew very little. I became the dog who caught the car. Because of Berkshire’s operating losses and share repurchases, its net worth at the end of fiscal 1964 had fallen to $22 million from $55 million at the time of the 1955 merger. The full $22 million was required by the textile operation: The company had no excess cash and owed its bank $2.5 million. (Berkshire’s 1964 annual report is reproduced on pages 130-142.) For a time I got lucky: Berkshire immediately enjoyed two years of good operating conditions. Better yet, its earnings in those years were free of income tax because it possessed a large loss carry-forward that had arisen from the disastrous results in earlier years. Then the honeymoon ended. During the 18 years following 1966, we struggled unremittingly with the textile business, all to no avail. But stubbornness – stupidity? – has its limits. In 1985, I finally threw in the towel and closed the operation. * * * * * * * * * * * * Undeterred by my first mistake of committing much of BPL’s resources to a dying business, I quickly compounded the error.

Indeed, my second blunder was far more serious than the first, eventually becoming the most costly in my career. Early in 1967, I had Berkshire pay $8.6 million to buy National Indemnity Company (“NICO”), a small but promising Omaha-based insurer. (A tiny sister company was also included in the deal.) Insurance was in my sweet spot: I understood and liked the industry. Jack Ringwalt, the owner of NICO, was a long-time friend who wanted to sell to me – me, personally. In no way was his offer intended for Berkshire. So why did I purchase NICO for Berkshire rather than for BPL? I’ve had 48 years to think about that question, and I’ve yet to come up with a good answer. I simply made a colossal mistake. If BPL had been the purchaser, my partners and I would have owned 100% of a fine business, destined to form the base for building the company Berkshire has become. Moreover, our growth would not have been impeded for nearly two decades by the unproductive funds imprisoned in the textile operation. Finally, our subsequent acquisitions would have been owned in their entirety by my partners and me rather than being 39%-owned by the legacy shareholders of Berkshire, to whom we had no obligation. Despite these facts staring me in the face, I opted to marry 100% of an excellent business (NICO) to a 61%-owned terrible business (Berkshire Hathaway), a decision that eventually diverted $100 billion or so from BPL partners to a collection of strangers.

Charlie Straightens Me Out My cigar-butt strategy worked very well while I was managing small sums. Indeed, the many dozens of free puffs I obtained in the 1950s made that decade by far the best of my life for both relative and absolute investment performance. Even then, however, I made a few exceptions to cigar butts, the most important being GEICO. Thanks to a 1951 conversation I had with Lorimer Davidson, a wonderful man who later became CEO of the company, I learned that GEICO was a terrific business and promptly put 65% of my $9,800 net worth into its shares. Most of my gains in those early years, though, came from investments in mediocre companies that traded at bargain prices. Ben Graham had taught me that technique, and it worked. But a major weakness in this approach gradually became apparent: Cigar-butt investing was scalable only to a point. With large sums, it would never work well. In addition, though marginal businesses purchased at cheap prices may be attractive as short-term investments, they are the wrong foundation on which to build a large and enduring enterprise. Selecting a marriage partner clearly requires more demanding criteria than does dating. (Berkshire, it should be noted, would have been a highly satisfactory “date”: If we had taken Seabury Stanton’s $11.375 offer for our shares, BPL’s weighted annual return on its Berkshire investment would have been about 40%.)

The family controlling See’s wanted $30 million for the business, and Charlie rightly said it was worth that much. But I didn’t want to pay more than $25 million and wasn’t all that enthusiastic even at that figure. (A price that was three times net tangible assets made me gulp.) My misguided caution could have scuttled a terrific purchase. But, luckily, the sellers decided to take our $25 million bid. To date, See’s has earned $1.9 billion pre-tax, with its growth having required added investment of only $40 million. See’s has thus been able to distribute huge sums that have helped Berkshire buy other businesses that, in turn, have themselves produced large distributable profits. (Envision rabbits breeding.) Additionally, through watching See’s in action, I gained a business education about the value of powerful brands that opened my eyes to many other profitable investments. * * * * * * * * * * * * Even with Charlie’s blueprint, I have made plenty of mistakes since Waumbec. The most gruesome was Dexter Shoe. When we purchased the company in 1993, it had a terrific record and in no way looked to me like a cigar butt. Its competitive strengths, however, were soon to evaporate because of foreign competition. And I simply didn’t see that coming. Consequently, Berkshire paid $433 million for Dexter and, rather promptly, its value went to zero. GAAP accounting, however, doesn’t come close to recording the magnitude of my error.

The fact is that I gave Berkshire stock to the sellers of Dexter rather than cash, and the shares I used for the purchase are now worth about $5.7 billion. As a financial disaster, this one deserves a spot in the Guinness Book of World Records. Several of my subsequent errors also involved the use of Berkshire shares to purchase businesses whose earnings were destined to simply limp along. Mistakes of that kind are deadly. Trading shares of a wonderful business – which Berkshire most certainly is – for ownership of a so-so business irreparably destroys value. We’ve also suffered financially when this mistake has been committed by companies whose shares Berkshire has owned (with the errors sometimes occurring while I was serving as a director). Too often CEOs seem blind to an elementary reality: The intrinsic value of the shares you give in an acquisition must not be greater than the intrinsic value of the business you receive.

They receive their rewards instead through ownership of Berkshire shares and the satisfaction that comes from being good stewards of an important enterprise. The shares that they and their families own – which, in many cases, are worth very substantial sums – were purchased in the market (rather than their materializing through options or grants). In addition, unlike almost all other sizable public companies, we carry no directors and officers liability insurance. At Berkshire, directors walk in your shoes. To further ensure continuation of our culture, I have suggested that my son, Howard, succeed me as a non- executive Chairman. My only reason for this wish is to make change easier if the wrong CEO should ever be employed and there occurs a need for the Chairman to move forcefully. I can assure you that this problem has a very low probability of arising at Berkshire – likely as low as at any public company. In my service on the boards of nineteen public companies, however, I’ve seen how hard it is to replace a mediocre CEO if that person is also Chairman. (The deed usually gets done, but almost always very late.) If elected, Howard will receive no pay and will spend no time at the job other than that required of all directors. He will simply be a safety valve to whom any director can go if he or she has concerns about the CEO and wishes to learn if other directors are expressing doubts as well.

The four companies possess excellent businesses and are run by managers who are both talented and shareholder-oriented. At Berkshire, we much prefer owning a non-controlling but substantial portion of a wonderful company to owning 100% of a so-so business; it’s better to have a partial interest in the Hope diamond than to own all of a rhinestone. Going by our yearend holdings, our portion of the “Big Four’s” 2013 earnings amounted to $4.4 billion. In the earnings we report to you, however, we include only the dividends we receive – about $1.4 billion last year. But make no mistake: The $3 billion of their earnings we don’t report is every bit as valuable to us as the portion Berkshire records. The earnings that these four companies retain are often used for repurchases of their own stock – a move that enhances our share of future earnings – as well as for funding business opportunities that usually turn out to be advantageous. All that leads us to expect that the per-share earnings of these four investees will grow substantially over time. If they do, dividends to Berkshire will increase and, even more important, our unrealized capital gains will, too. (For the four, unrealized gains already totaled $39 billion at yearend.) Our flexibility in capital allocation – our willingness to invest large sums passively in non-controlled businesses – gives us a significant advantage over companies that limit themselves to acquisitions they can operate.

Many insurers pass the first three tests and flunk the fourth. They simply can’t turn their back on business that is being eagerly written by their competitors. That old line, “The other guy is doing it, so we must as well,” spells trouble in any business, but in none more so than insurance. Tad has observed all four of the insurance commandments, and it shows in his results. General Re’s huge float has been better than cost-free under his leadership, and we expect that, on average, to continue. We are particularly enthusiastic about General Re’s international life reinsurance business, which has grown consistently and profitably since we acquired the company in 1998. It can be remembered that soon after we purchased General Re, the company was beset by problems that caused commentators – and me as well, briefly – to believe I had made a huge mistake. That day is long gone. General Re is now a gem. * * * * * * * * * * * * Finally, there is GEICO, the insurer on which I cut my teeth 63 years ago. GEICO is managed by Tony Nicely, who joined the company at 18 and completed 52 years of service in 2013. Tony became CEO in 1993, and since then the company has been flying. When I was first introduced to GEICO in January 1951, I was blown away by the huge cost advantage the company enjoyed compared to the expenses borne by the giants of the industry. That operational efficiency continues today and is an all-important asset. No one likes to buy auto insurance.

Therefore, both the ability and willingness of the insurer to pay – even if economic chaos prevails when payment time arrives – is all-important. Berkshire’s promises have no equal, a fact affirmed in recent years by the actions of the world’s largest and most sophisticated insurers, some of which have wanted to shed themselves of huge and exceptionally long- lived liabilities, particularly those involving asbestos claims. That is, these insurers wished to “cede” their liabilities to a reinsurer. Choosing the wrong reinsurer, however – one that down the road proved to be financially strapped or a bad actor – would put the original insurer in danger of getting the liabilities right back in its lap. Almost without exception, the largest insurers seeking aid came to Berkshire. Indeed, in the largest such transaction ever recorded, Lloyd’s in 2007 turned over to us both many thousands of known claims arising from policies written before 1993 and an unknown but huge number of claims from that same period sure to materialize in the future. (Yes, we will be receiving claims decades from now that apply to events taking place prior to 1993.) Berkshire’s ultimate payments arising from the Lloyd’s transaction are today unknowable. What is certain, however, is that Berkshire will pay all valid claims up to the $15 billion limit of our policy. No other insurer’s promise would have given Lloyd’s the comfort provided by its agreement with Berkshire.

Our public reports of earnings will, of course, continue to conform to GAAP. To embrace reality, however, remember to add back most of the amortization charges we report. * * * * * * * * * * * * The crowd of companies in this section sells products ranging from lollipops to jet airplanes. Some of these businesses, measured by earnings on unleveraged net tangible assets, enjoy terrific economics, producing profits that run from 25% after-tax to far more than 100%. Others generate good returns in the area of 12% to 20%. A few, however, have very poor returns, a result of some serious mistakes I made in my job of capital allocation. I was not misled: I simply was wrong in my evaluation of the economic dynamics of the company or the industry in which it operated. Fortunately, my blunders usually involved relatively small acquisitions. Our large buys have generally worked out well and, in a few cases, more than well. I have not, however, made my last mistake in purchasing either businesses or stocks. Not everything works out as planned. Viewed as a single entity, the companies in this group are an excellent business. They employed an average of $25 billion of net tangible assets during 2013 and, with large quantities of excess cash and little leverage, earned 16.7% after-tax on that capital. Of course, a business with terrific economics can be a bad investment if the purchase price is excessive.

Berkshire has one major equity position that is not included in the table: We can buy 700 million shares of Bank of America at any time prior to September 2021 for $5 billion. At yearend these shares were worth $10.9 billion. We are likely to purchase the shares just before expiration of our option. In the meantime, it is important for you to realize that Bank of America is, in effect, our fifth largest equity investment and one we value highly. In addition to our equity holdings, we also invest substantial sums in bonds. Usually, we’ve done well in these. But not always. Most of you have never heard of Energy Future Holdings. Consider yourselves lucky; I certainly wish I hadn’t. The company was formed in 2007 to effect a giant leveraged buyout of electric utility assets in Texas. The equity owners put up $8 billion and borrowed a massive amount in addition. About $2 billion of the debt was purchased by Berkshire, pursuant to a decision I made without consulting with Charlie. That was a big mistake. Unless natural gas prices soar, EFH will almost certainly file for bankruptcy in 2014. Last year, we sold our holdings for $259 million. While owning the bonds, we received $837 million in cash interest. Overall, therefore, we suffered a pre-tax loss of $873 million. Next time I’ll call Charlie. A few of our subsidiaries – primarily electric and gas utilities – use derivatives in their operations.

Mae West had it right: “Too much of a good thing can be wonderful.” The four companies possess marvelous businesses and are run by managers who are both talented and shareholder-oriented. At Berkshire we much prefer owning a non-controlling but substantial portion of a wonderful business to owning 100% of a so-so business. Our flexibility in capital allocation gives us a significant advantage over companies that limit themselves only to acquisitions they can operate. Going by our yearend share count, our portion of the “Big Four’s” 2012 earnings amounted to $3.9 billion. In the earnings we report to you, however, we include only the dividends we receive – about $1.1 billion. But make no mistake: The $2.8 billion of earnings we do not report is every bit as valuable to us as what we record. The earnings that the four companies retain are often used for repurchases – which enhance our share of future earnings – and also for funding business opportunities that are usually advantageous. Over time we expect substantially greater earnings from these four investees. If we are correct, dividends to Berkshire will increase and, even more important, so will our unrealized capital gains (which, for the four, totaled $26.7 billion at yearend). Š There was a lot of hand-wringing last year among CEOs who cried “uncertainty” when faced with capital- allocation decisions (despite many of their businesses having enjoyed record levels of both earnings and cash).

American business will do fine over time. And stocks will do well just as certainly, since their fate is tied to business performance. Periodic setbacks will occur, yes, but investors and managers are in a game that is heavily stacked in their favor. (The Dow Jones Industrials advanced from 66 to 11,497 in the 20th Century, a staggering 17,320% increase that materialized despite four costly wars, a Great Depression and many recessions. And don’t forget that shareholders received substantial dividends throughout the century as well.) Since the basic game is so favorable, Charlie and I believe it’s a terrible mistake to try to dance in and out of it based upon the turn of tarot cards, the predictions of “experts,” or the ebb and flow of business activity. The risks of being out of the game are huge compared to the risks of being in it. My own history provides a dramatic example: I made my first stock purchase in the spring of 1942 when the U.S. was suffering major losses throughout the Pacific war zone. Each day’s headlines told of more setbacks. Even so, there was no talk about uncertainty; every American I knew believed we would prevail. The country’s success since that perilous time boggles the mind: On an inflation-adjusted basis, GDP per capita more than quadrupled between 1941 and 2012. Throughout that period, every tomorrow has been uncertain. America’s destiny, however, has always been clear: ever-increasing abundance.

Insurance Let’s look first at insurance, Berkshire’s core operation and the engine that has propelled our expansion over the years. Property-casualty (“P/C”) insurers receive premiums upfront and pay claims later. In extreme cases, such as those arising from certain workers’ compensation accidents, payments can stretch over decades. This collect- now, pay-later model leaves us holding large sums – money we call “float” – that will eventually go to others. Meanwhile, we get to invest this float for Berkshire’s benefit. Though individual policies and claims come and go, the amount of float we hold remains quite stable in relation to premium volume. Consequently, as our business grows, so does our float. And how we have grown, as the following table shows: Year Float (in $ millions) 1970 $ 39 1980 237 1990 1,632 2000 27,871 2010 65,832 2012 73,125 Last year I told you that our float was likely to level off or even decline a bit in the future. Our insurance CEOs set out to prove me wrong and did, increasing float last year by $2.5 billion. I now expect a further increase in 2013. But further gains will be tough to achieve. On the plus side, GEICO’s float will almost certainly grow. In National Indemnity’s reinsurance division, however, we have a number of run-off contracts whose float drifts downward. If we do experience a decline in float at some future time, it will be very gradual – at the outside no more than 2% in any year.

That’s particularly true at Berkshire: Because of our present size, making acquisitions that are both meaningful and sensible is now more difficult than it has been during most of our years. Nevertheless, a large deal still offers us possibilities to add materially to per-share intrinsic value. BNSF is a case in point: It is now worth considerably more than our carrying value. Had we instead allocated the funds required for this purchase to dividends or repurchases, you and I would have been worse off. Though large transactions of the BNSF kind will be rare, there are still some whales in the ocean. The third use of funds – repurchases – is sensible for a company when its shares sell at a meaningful discount to conservatively calculated intrinsic value. Indeed, disciplined repurchases are the surest way to use funds intelligently: It’s hard to go wrong when you’re buying dollar bills for 80¢ or less. We explained our criteria for repurchases in last year’s report and, if the opportunity presents itself, we will buy large quantities of our stock. We originally said we would not pay more than 110% of book value, but that proved unrealistic. Therefore, we increased the limit to 120% in December when a large block became available at about 116% of book value.

We expect the combined earnings of the four – and their dividends as well – to increase in 2012 and, for that matter, almost every year for a long time to come. A decade from now, our current holdings of the four companies might well account for earnings of $7 billion, of which $2 billion in dividends would come to us. I’ve run out of good news. Here are some developments that hurt us during 2011: • A few years back, I spent about $2 billion buying several bond issues of Energy Future Holdings, an electric utility operation serving portions of Texas. That was a mistake – a big mistake. In large measure, the company’s prospects were tied to the price of natural gas, which tanked shortly after our purchase and remains depressed. Though we have annually received interest payments of about $102 million since our purchase, the company’s ability to pay will soon be exhausted unless gas prices rise substantially. We wrote down our investment by $1 billion in 2010 and by an additional $390 million last year. At yearend, we carried the bonds at their market value of $878 million. If gas prices remain at present levels, we will likely face a further loss, perhaps in an amount that will virtually wipe out our current carrying value. Conversely, a substantial increase in gas prices might allow us to recoup some, or even all, of our write-down. However things turn out, I totally miscalculated the gain/loss probabilities when I purchased the bonds.

• Three large and very attractive fixed-income investments were called away from us by their issuers in 2011. Swiss Re, Goldman Sachs and General Electric paid us an aggregate of $12.8 billion to redeem securities that were producing about $1.2 billion of pre-tax earnings for Berkshire. That’s a lot of income to replace, though our Lubrizol purchase did offset most of it. • Last year, I told you that “a housing recovery will probably begin within a year or so.” I was dead wrong. We have five businesses whose results are significantly influenced by housing activity. The connection is direct at Clayton Homes, which is the largest producer of homes in the country, accounting for about 7% of those constructed during 2011. Additionally, Acme Brick, Shaw (carpet), Johns Manville (insulation) and MiTek (building products, primarily connector plates used in roofing) are all materially affected by construction activity. In aggregate, our five housing-related companies had pre-tax profits of $513 million in 2011. That’s similar to 2010 but down from $1.8 billion in 2006. Housing will come back – you can be sure of that. Over time, the number of housing units necessarily matches the number of households (after allowing for a normal level of vacancies). For a period of years prior to 2008, however, America added more housing units than households. Inevitably, we ended up with far too many units and the bubble popped with a violence that shook the entire economy.

By these accomplishments, he has added a great many billions of dollars to the value of Berkshire. Charlie would gladly trade me for a second Ajit. Alas, there is none. * * * * * * * * * * * * We have another insurance powerhouse in General Re, managed by Tad Montross. At bottom, a sound insurance operation needs to adhere to four disciplines. It must (1) understand all exposures that might cause a policy to incur losses; (2) conservatively evaluate the likelihood of any exposure actually causing a loss and the probable cost if it does; (3) set a premium that will deliver a profit, on average, after both prospective loss costs and operating expenses are covered; and (4) be willing to walk away if the appropriate premium can’t be obtained. Many insurers pass the first three tests and flunk the fourth. They simply can’t turn their back on business that their competitors are eagerly writing. That old line, “The other guy is doing it so we must as well,” spells trouble in any business, but in none more so than insurance. Indeed, a good underwriter needs an independent mindset akin to that of the senior citizen who received a call from his wife while driving home. “Albert, be careful,” she warned, “I just heard on the radio that there’s a car going the wrong way down the Interstate.” “Mabel, they don’t know the half of it,” replied Albert, “It’s not just one car, there are hundreds of them.” Tad has observed all four of the insurance commandments, and it shows in his results.

At the 2010 Berkshire annual meeting, two years into the recovery from the 2008 crisis, I was asked whether the bailouts had been wise. I told the audience that the bailouts had been necessary, in the panic phase, because the alternative was a complete collapse of the credit system, and the cost of the collapse would have been far larger than the cost of the bailouts. The capital-allocation-discipline lesson I tried to convey was that the government, as the lender of last resort, had played a role that no private balance sheet could have played, and that the bailouts had, in aggregate, returned a profit to the taxpayer. The investor who recognised the necessity of the bailouts, and who refused to moralise about them, had a clearer view of the crisis than the investor who insisted that the bailouts were a moral hazard that should not have been provided. The mistakes-and-learning discussion at the 2010 meeting was, as always, the most useful part. I told the audience that the biggest mistake Berkshire had made during the crisis was not buying more when the prices were at their lows. The opportunity cost of that hesitation was, in dollar terms, very large. The lesson I tried to convey was that the disciplined investor must be willing to act during a crisis, even when the outlook is unclear, even when the prices may go lower before they go higher. The investor who waits for clarity misses the move. The investor who acts when the headlines are still terrifying, who buys wonderful businesses at panic prices, and who refuses to sell during the early volatility, has an enormous long-run advantage over the investor who waits for the all-clear signal that, in retrospect, never comes from the economists until the move has already happened. The market-psychology element I tried to add was that the credit cycle does not end in scarcity; it ends in abundance, when lenders, having forgotten the losses of the previous scarcity, begin lending freely again to borrowers who cannot repay. The investor who recognises this pattern, and who positions his portfolio for the next phase of the cycle rather than for the current phase, has an enormous advantage over the investor who assumes the current phase will continue forever. The 2010 meeting was, in some ways, a summing-up of the crisis. I told the audience that the lessons I had learned in two years of crisis were the same lessons I had learned in the previous four decades: buy wonderful businesses, hold them for a long time, refuse to be panicked out by short-term volatility, and never forget that the long run is the only horizon that matters for the investor with the right temperament and a strong balance sheet. The crisis had not changed the lessons; it had only confirmed them.

Black-Scholes is the accepted standard for option valuation – almost all leading business schools teach it – and we would be accused of shoddy accounting if we deviated from it. Moreover, we would present our auditors with an insurmountable problem were we to do that: They have clients who are our counterparties and who use Black- Scholes values for the same contracts we hold. It would be impossible for our auditors to attest to the accuracy of both their values and ours were the two far apart. Part of the appeal of Black-Scholes to auditors and regulators is that it produces a precise number. Charlie and I can’t supply one of those. We believe the true liability of our contracts to be far lower than that calculated by Black-Scholes, but we can’t come up with an exact figure – anymore than we can come up with a precise value for GEICO, BNSF, or for Berkshire Hathaway itself. Our inability to pinpoint a number doesn’t bother us: We would rather be approximately right than precisely wrong. John Kenneth Galbraith once slyly observed that economists were most economical with ideas: They made the ones learned in graduate school last a lifetime. University finance departments often behave similarly. Witness the tenacity with which almost all clung to the theory of efficient markets throughout the 1970s and 1980s, dismissively calling powerful facts that refuted it “anomalies.

At the 2009 annual meeting, six months into the recovery from the March 2009 lows, I was asked whether the worst was over. I told the audience that I did not know whether the economy had bottomed, and that I did not need to know. What I knew was that the prices being offered for wonderful American businesses were still attractive, and that the long-run returns from buying wonderful businesses at attractive prices were very high. The market-psychology point I tried to convey was that the investor who waits for the all-clear signal from the economists will miss the move. By the time the economists agree that the recession is over, the market has already moved. The discipline required is to buy when the headlines are still terrifying and the outlook is still unclear, and to hold on through the volatility that always accompanies the early phase of a recovery. That discipline is far harder to apply than to describe. The mistakes-and-learning discussion at the 2009 meeting was, as always, my favourite part. I told the audience that the biggest mistake I had made during the crisis was selling too early. I had bought ConocoPhillips at high prices as oil was crashing, when I should have waited for oil to fall further. I had also bought some Irish bank bonds that turned out to be worth less than I paid, and I had paid too much for a stake in two Irish banks. The lesson I tried to convey was that even the disciplined investor makes mistakes during a crisis, because the speed of the price collapse tempts even the patient buyer to act before the prices have fully adjusted. The correction is to size positions conservatively, to average in over time, and to be honest with oneself about which mistakes were process errors and which were simply bad luck. The contrarianism lesson of 2009 is the one I have tried hardest to teach. The investor who bought during the March 2009 lows, when the headlines were predicting the end of capitalism, made returns of several hundred percent over the next decade. The investor who sold during the March 2009 lows, who panicked and went to cash, has still not recovered the purchasing power he gave up. The difference between the two outcomes is not intelligence; it is temperament. The investor with the temperament to buy when the world is ending, and to hold on through the early volatility, will outperform the investor with the higher IQ who panics at the bottom. That is the single most important lesson I have learned in six decades of investing, and it is the lesson I have repeated most often to the students who visit Omaha each spring. Temperament, more than intelligence, determines the long-run return.

Charlie and I will limit ourselves to allocating capital, controlling enterprise risk, choosing managers and setting their compensation. • We make no attempt to woo Wall Street. Investors who buy and sell based upon media or analyst commentary are not for us. Instead we want partners who join us at Berkshire because they wish to make a long-term investment in a business they themselves understand and because it’s one that follows policies with which they concur. If Charlie and I were to go into a small venture with a few partners, we would seek individuals in sync with us, knowing that common goals and a shared destiny make for a happy business “marriage” between owners and managers. Scaling up to giant size doesn’t change that truth. To build a compatible shareholder population, we try to communicate with our owners directly and informatively. Our goal is to tell you what we would like to know if our positions were reversed. Additionally, we try to post our quarterly and annual financial information on the Internet early on weekends, thereby giving you and other investors plenty of time during a non-trading period to digest just what has happened at our multi-faceted enterprise. (Occasionally, SEC deadlines force a non-Friday disclosure.) These matters simply can’t be adequately summarized in a few paragraphs, nor do they lend themselves to the kind of catchy headline that journalists sometimes seek. Last year we saw, in one instance, how sound-bite reporting can go wrong.

Finally, we own a group of smaller companies, most of them specializing in odd corners of the insurance world. In aggregate, their results have consistently been profitable and, as the table below shows, the float they provide us is substantial. Charlie and I treasure these companies and their managers. Here is the record of all four segments of our property-casualty and life insurance businesses: Underwriting Profit Yearend Float (in millions) Insurance Operations 2009 2008 2009 2008 General Re . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . $ 477 $ 342 $21,014 $21,074 BH Reinsurance . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 349 1,324 26,223 24,221 GEICO . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 649 916 9,613 8,454 Other Primary . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 84 210 5,061 4,739 $1,559 $2,792 $61,911 $58,488 * * * * * * * * * * * * And now a painful confession: Last year your chairman closed the book on a very expensive business fiasco entirely of his own making. For many years I had struggled to think of side products that we could offer our millions of loyal GEICO customers. Unfortunately, I finally succeeded, coming up with a brilliant insight that we should market our own credit card. I reasoned that GEICO policyholders were likely to be good credit risks and, assuming we offered an attractive card, would likely favor us with their business. We got business all right – but of the wrong type. Our pre-tax losses from credit-card operations came to about $6.

Things also went well on the capital-allocation front last year. Berkshire is always a buyer of both businesses and securities, and the disarray in markets gave us a tailwind in our purchases. When investing, pessimism is your friend, euphoria the enemy. In our insurance portfolios, we made three large investments on terms that would be unavailable in normal markets. These should add about $1 1⁄2 billion pre-tax to Berkshire’s annual earnings and offer possibilities for capital gains as well. We also closed on our Marmon acquisition (we own 64% of the company now and will purchase its remaining stock over the next six years). Additionally, certain of our subsidiaries made “tuck-in” acquisitions that will strengthen their competitive positions and earnings. That’s the good news. But there’s another less pleasant reality: During 2008 I did some dumb things in investments. I made at least one major mistake of commission and several lesser ones that also hurt. I will tell you more about these later. Furthermore, I made some errors of omission, sucking my thumb when new facts came in that should have caused me to re-examine my thinking and promptly take action. Additionally, the market value of the bonds and stocks that we continue to hold suffered a significant decline along with the general market. This does not bother Charlie and me. Indeed, we enjoy such price declines if we have funds available to increase our positions.

* * * * * * * * * * * * The type of fallacy involved in projecting loss experience from a universe of non-insured bonds onto a deceptively-similar universe in which many bonds are insured pops up in other areas of finance. “Back-tested” models of many kinds are susceptible to this sort of error. Nevertheless, they are frequently touted in financial markets as guides to future action. (If merely looking up past financial data would tell you what the future holds, the Forbes 400 would consist of librarians.) Indeed, the stupefying losses in mortgage-related securities came in large part because of flawed, history-based models used by salesmen, rating agencies and investors. These parties looked at loss experience over periods when home prices rose only moderately and speculation in houses was negligible. They then made this experience a yardstick for evaluating future losses. They blissfully ignored the fact that house prices had recently skyrocketed, loan practices had deteriorated and many buyers had opted for houses they couldn’t afford. In short, universe “past” and universe “current” had very different characteristics. But lenders, government and media largely failed to recognize this all-important fact.

Unless facts or rules change, you will see these holdings reflected in our balance sheet at “equity accounting” values, whatever their market prices. You will also see our share of their earnings (less applicable taxes) regularly included in our quarterly and annual earnings. I told you in an earlier part of this report that last year I made a major mistake of commission (and maybe more; this one sticks out). Without urging from Charlie or anyone else, I bought a large amount of ConocoPhillips stock when oil and gas prices were near their peak. I in no way anticipated the dramatic fall in energy prices that occurred in the last half of the year. I still believe the odds are good that oil sells far higher in the future than the current $40-$50 price. But so far I have been dead wrong. Even if prices should rise, moreover, the terrible timing of my purchase has cost Berkshire several billion dollars. I made some other already-recognizable errors as well. They were smaller, but unfortunately not that small. During 2008, I spent $244 million for shares of two Irish banks that appeared cheap to me. At yearend we wrote these holdings down to market: $27 million, for an 89% loss. Since then, the two stocks have declined even further. The tennis crowd would call my mistakes “unforced errors.” On the plus side last year, we made purchases totaling $14.5 billion in fixed-income securities issued by Wrigley, Goldman Sachs and General Electric.

Long-term competitive advantage in a stable industry is what we seek in a business. If that comes with rapid organic growth, great. But even without organic growth, such a business is rewarding. We will simply take the lush earnings of the business and use them to buy similar businesses elsewhere. There’s no rule that you have to invest money where you’ve earned it. Indeed, it’s often a mistake to do so: Truly great businesses, earning huge returns on tangible assets, can’t for any extended period reinvest a large portion of their earnings internally at high rates of return. Let’s look at the prototype of a dream business, our own See’s Candy. The boxed-chocolates industry in which it operates is unexciting: Per-capita consumption in the U.S. is extremely low and doesn’t grow. Many once-important brands have disappeared, and only three companies have earned more than token profits over the last forty years. Indeed, I believe that See’s, though it obtains the bulk of its revenues from only a few states, accounts for nearly half of the entire industry’s earnings. At See’s, annual sales were 16 million pounds of candy when Blue Chip Stamps purchased the company in 1972. (Charlie and I controlled Blue Chip at the time and later merged it into Berkshire.) Last year See’s sold 31 million pounds, a growth rate of only 2% annually.

In 2006, the station earned $73 million pre-tax, bringing its total earnings since I turned down the deal to at least $1 billion – almost all available to its owner for other purposes. Moreover, the property now has a capital value of about $800 million. Why did I say “no”? The only explanation is that my brain had gone on vacation and forgot to notify me. (My behavior resembled that of a politician Molly Ivins once described: “If his I.Q. was any lower, you would have to water him twice a day.”) Finally, I made an even worse mistake when I said “yes” to Dexter, a shoe business I bought in 1993 for $433 million in Berkshire stock (25,203 shares of A). What I had assessed as durable competitive advantage vanished within a few years. But that’s just the beginning: By using Berkshire stock, I compounded this error hugely. That move made the cost to Berkshire shareholders not $400 million, but rather $3.5 billion. In essence, I gave away 1.6% of a wonderful business – one now valued at $220 billion – to buy a worthless business. To date, Dexter is the worst deal that I’ve made. But I’ll make more mistakes in the future – you can bet on that. A line from Bobby Bare’s country song explains what too often happens with acquisitions: “I’ve never gone to bed with an ugly woman, but I’ve sure woke up with a few.” * * * * * * * * * * * * Now, let’s examine the four major operating sectors of Berkshire. Each sector has vastly different balance sheet and income account characteristics.

What is no puzzle, however, is why CEOs opt for a high investment assumption: It lets them report higher earnings. And if they are wrong, as I believe they are, the chickens won’t come home to roost until long after they retire. After decades of pushing the envelope – or worse – in its attempt to report the highest number possible for current earnings, Corporate America should ease up. It should listen to my partner, Charlie: “If you’ve hit three balls out of bounds to the left, aim a little to the right on the next swing.” * * * * * * * * * * * * Whatever pension-cost surprises are in store for shareholders down the road, these jolts will be surpassed many times over by those experienced by taxpayers. Public pension promises are huge and, in many cases, funding is woefully inadequate. Because the fuse on this time bomb is long, politicians flinch from inflicting tax pain, given that problems will only become apparent long after these officials have departed. Promises involving very early retirement – sometimes to those in their low 40s – and generous cost-of-living adjustments are easy for these officials to make. In a world where people are living longer and inflation is certain, those promises will be anything but easy to keep. * * * * * * * * * * * * Having laid out the failures of an “honor system” in American accounting, I need to point out that this is exactly the system existing at Berkshire for a truly huge balance-sheet item.

In every report we make to you, we must guesstimate the loss reserves for our insurance units. If our estimate is wrong, it means that both our balance sheet and our earnings statement will be wrong. So naturally we do our best to make these guesses accurate. Nevertheless, in every report our estimate is sure to be wrong. At yearend 2007, we show an insurance liability of $56 billion that represents our guess as to what we will eventually pay for all loss events that occurred before yearend (except for about $3 billion of the reserve that has been discounted to present value). We know of many thousands of events and have put a dollar value on each that reflects what we believe we will pay, including the associated costs (such as attorney’s fees) that we will incur in the payment process. In some cases, among them claims for certain serious injuries covered by worker’s compensation, payments will be made for 50 years or more. We also include a large reserve for losses that occurred before yearend but that we have yet to hear about. Sometimes, the insured itself does not know that a loss has occurred. (Think of an embezzlement that remains undiscovered for years.) We sometimes hear about losses from policies that covered our insured many decades ago. A story I told you some years back illustrates our problem in accurately estimating our loss liability: A fellow was on an important business trip in Europe when his sister called to tell him that their dad had died.

Her brother explained that he couldn’t get back but said to spare nothing on the funeral, whose cost he would cover. When he returned, his sister told him that the service had been beautiful and presented him with bills totaling $8,000. He paid up but a month later received a bill from the mortuary for $10. He paid that, too – and still another $10 charge he received a month later. When a third $10 invoice was sent to him the following month, the perplexed man called his sister to ask what was going on. “Oh,” she replied, “I forgot to tell you. We buried Dad in a rented suit.” At our insurance companies we have an unknown, but most certainly large, number of “rented suits” buried around the world. We try to estimate the bill for them accurately. In ten or twenty years, we will even be able to make a good guess as to how inaccurate our present guess is. But even that guess will be subject to surprises. I personally believe our stated reserves are adequate, but I’ve been wrong several times in the past.

We do know that it would be a huge mistake to bet that evolving atmospheric changes are benign in their implications for insurers. Don’t think, however, that we have lost our taste for risk. We remain prepared to lose $6 billion in a single event, if we have been paid appropriately for assuming that risk. We are not willing, though, to take on even very small exposures at prices that don’t reflect our evaluation of loss probabilities. Appropriate prices don’t guarantee profits in any given year, but inappropriate prices most certainly guarantee eventual losses. Rates have recently fallen because a flood of capital has entered the super-cat field. We have therefore sharply reduced our wind exposures. Our behavior here parallels that which we employ in financial markets: Be fearful when others are greedy, and be greedy when others are fearful. Lloyd’s, Equitas and Retroactive Reinsurance Last year – we are getting now to Equitas – Berkshire agreed to enter into a huge retroactive reinsurance contract, a policy that protects an insurer against losses that have already happened, but whose cost is not yet known. I’ll give you details of the agreement shortly. But let’s first take a journey through insurance history, following the route that led to our deal. Our tale begins around 1688, when Edward Lloyd opened a small coffee house in London.

Indeed the protection is so large that Equitas plans a cash payment to its thousands of names, an event few of them had ever dreamed possible. And how will Berkshire fare? That depends on how much “known” claims will end up costing us, how many yet-to-be-presented claims will surface and what they will cost, how soon claim payments will be made and how much we earn on the cash we receive before it must be paid out. Ajit and I think the odds are in our favor. And should we be wrong, Berkshire can handle it. Scott Moser, the CEO of Equitas, summarized the transaction neatly: “Names wanted to sleep easy at night, and we think we’ve just bought them the world’s best mattress.” * * * * * * * * * * * Warning: It’s time to eat your broccoli – I am now going to talk about accounting matters. I owe this to those Berkshire shareholders who love reading about debits and credits. I hope both of you find this discussion helpful. All others can skip this section; there will be no quiz. Berkshire has done many retroactive transactions – in both number and amount a multiple of such policies entered into by any other insurer. We are the reinsurer of choice for these coverages because the obligations that are transferred to us – for example, lifetime indemnity and medical payments to be made to injured workers – may not be fully satisfied for 50 years or more.certainty

It’s not hard, of course, to find smart people, among them individuals who have impressive investment records. But there is far more to successful long- term investing than brains and performance that has recently been good. Over time, markets will do extraordinary, even bizarre, things. A single, big mistake could wipe out a long string of successes. We therefore need someone genetically programmed to recognize and avoid serious risks, including those never before encountered. Certain perils that lurk in investment strategies cannot be spotted by use of the models commonly employed today by financial institutions. Temperament is also important. Independent thinking, emotional stability, and a keen understanding of both human and institutional behavior is vital to long-term investment success. I’ve seen a lot of very smart people who have lacked these virtues. Finally, we have a special problem to consider: our ability to keep the person we hire. Being able to list Berkshire on a resume would materially enhance the marketability of an investment manager. We will need, therefore, to be sure we can retain our choice, even though he or she could leave and make much more money elsewhere.

When I talked about Walter 23 years ago, his record forcefully contradicted this dogma. And what did members of the academic community do when they were exposed to this new and important evidence? Unfortunately, they reacted in all-too-human fashion: Rather than opening their minds, they closed their eyes. To my knowledge no business school teaching EMT made any attempt to study Walter’s performance and what it meant for the school’s cherished theory. Instead, the faculties of the schools went merrily on their way presenting EMT as having the certainty of scripture. Typically, a finance instructor who had the nerve to question EMT had about as much chance of major promotion as Galileo had of being named Pope. Tens of thousands of students were therefore sent out into life believing that on every day the price of every stock was “right” (or, more accurately, not demonstrably wrong) and that attempts to evaluate businesses – that is, stocks – were useless. Walter meanwhile went on overperforming, his job made easier by the misguided instructions that had been given to those young minds. After all, if you are in the shipping business, it’s helpful to have all of your potential competitors be taught that the earth is flat. Maybe it was a good thing for his investors that Walter didn’t go to college.

At the 2005 Berkshire annual meeting, I was asked about the housing market and the lending standards being applied to mortgage loans. I told the audience that the prices being paid for houses, in some markets, had become detached from the rents that comparable houses could generate, and that the gap was being financed by lending standards that, in normal times, would not have been acceptable. The market-psychology point I tried to convey was that the crowd, in its optimistic phase, convinces itself that the rules of valuation have been suspended. They have not. What has been suspended is only the willingness of lenders to enforce the rules. The capital-allocation-discipline lesson was that the investor who recognised the suspension, and who refused to participate in the loans or the securities backed by those loans, had a long-run advantage over the investor who chased the prices on the assumption that the rules had been permanently suspended. The mistakes-and-learning discussion at the 2005 meeting was, as always, my favourite part. I told the audience that the biggest mistake of the previous decade was not a bad investment; it was a missed investment. There were several wonderful businesses that I had studied carefully, understood well, and failed to buy when they were cheap. The opportunity cost of those misses was, in dollar terms, very large. The lesson I tried to convey was that the investor who is honest about his mistakes of omission, not just his mistakes of commission, learns far more than the investor who only celebrates his winners. The market rewards the investor who admits he was wrong, writes down the lesson, and applies it the next time. The market punishes the investor who refuses to acknowledge his mistakes, because that investor never learns, and he keeps repeating them at progressively larger scale. The capital-allocation-discipline point I tried to add was that the investor who buys wonderful businesses at reasonable prices, and who refuses to chase the prices that easy money had temporarily supported, has the long run on his side. The investor who chases the prices, on the assumption that easy money will last forever, learns, painfully, that the prices of assets are bounded by the cash those assets will eventually distribute to their owners. The 2005 meeting was, in retrospect, a warning about the housing bubble that would, two years later, begin to unwind. The investor who recognised the warning, and who positioned his portfolio for the unwind, survived the crisis. The investor who ignored the warning, and who chased the prices, learned the lesson the hard way. The lesson I tried to convey was that the disciplined investor must be willing to recognise a bubble when he sees one, and to refuse to participate, even at the cost of looking unfashionable during the boom.

I say “estimate” because calculations of intrinsic value, though all-important, are necessarily imprecise and often seriously wrong. The more uncertain the future of a business, the more possibility there is that the calculation will be wildly off-base. (For an explanation of intrinsic value, see pages 77 – 78.) Here Berkshire has some advantages: a wide variety of relatively-stable earnings streams, combined with great liquidity and minimum debt. These factors mean that Berkshire’s intrinsic value can be more precisely calculated than can the intrinsic value of most companies. Yet if precision is aided by Berkshire’s financial characteristics, the job of calculating intrinsic value has been made more complex by the mere presence of so many earnings streams. Back in 1965, when we owned only a small textile operation, the task of calculating intrinsic value was a snap. Now we own 68 distinct businesses with widely disparate operating and financial characteristics. This array of unrelated enterprises, coupled with our massive investment holdings, makes it impossible for you to simply examine our consolidated financial statements and arrive at an informed estimate of intrinsic value. We have attempted to ease this problem by clustering our businesses into four logical groups, each of which we discuss later in this report. In these discussions, we will provide the key figures for both the group and its important components.

But Ed and Jon Bridge at their operation and Scott Hymas at R. C. Willey were more than up to this challenge. Ben Bridge had a 6.6% same-store gain in 2005, and R. C. Willey came in at 9.9%. Our never-on-Sunday approach at R. C. Willey continues to overwhelm seven-day competitors as we roll out stores in new markets. The Boise store, about which I was such a skeptic a few years back, had a 21% gain in 2005, coming off a 10% gain in 2004. Our new Reno store, opened in November, broke out of the gate fast with sales that exceeded Boise’s early pace, and we will begin business in Sacramento in June. If this store succeeds as I expect it to, Californians will see many more R. C. Willey stores in the years to come. • In flight services, earnings improved at FlightSafety as corporate aviation continued its rebound. To support growth, we invest heavily in new simulators. Our most recent expansion, bringing us to 42 training centers, is a major facility at Farnborough, England that opened in September. When it is fully built out in 2007, we will have invested more than $100 million in the building and its 15 simulators. Bruce Whitman, FlightSafety’s able CEO, makes sure that no competitor comes close to offering the breadth and depth of services that we do. Operating results at NetJets were a different story. I said last year that this business would earn money in 2005 – and I was dead wrong.

At the 2004 Berkshire annual meeting, I was asked about the housing market and the credit standards being applied to mortgage loans. I told the audience that the prices being paid for houses, in some markets, had become detached from the rents that comparable houses could generate, and that the gap was being financed by lending standards that, in normal times, would not have been acceptable. The market-psychology point I tried to convey was that the crowd, in its optimistic phase, convinces itself that the rules of valuation have been suspended. They have not. What has been suspended is only the willingness of lenders to enforce the rules. The capital-allocation-discipline lesson was that the investor who recognised the suspension, and who refused to participate in the loans or the securities backed by those loans, had a long-run advantage over the investor who chased the prices on the assumption that the rules had been permanently suspended. The mistakes-and-learning discussion at the 2004 meeting was, as always, my favourite part. I told the audience that the biggest mistake of the previous decade was not a bad investment; it was a missed investment. There were several wonderful businesses that I had studied carefully, understood well, and failed to buy when they were cheap. The opportunity cost of those misses was, in dollar terms, very large. The lesson I tried to convey was that the investor who is honest about his mistakes of omission, not just his mistakes of commission, learns far more than the investor who only celebrates his winners. The market rewards the investor who admits he was wrong, writes down the lesson, and applies it the next time. The market punishes the investor who refuses to acknowledge his mistakes, because that investor never learns, and he keeps repeating them at progressively larger scale, until the cost of the mistake becomes existential. The capital-allocation-discipline point I tried to add was that the investor who buys wonderful businesses at reasonable prices, and who refuses to chase the prices that easy money had temporarily supported, has the long run on his side. The investor who chases the prices, on the assumption that easy money will last forever, learns, painfully, that the prices of assets are bounded by the cash those assets will eventually distribute to their owners. The 2004 meeting was, in retrospect, a warning about the housing bubble that would, three years later, begin to unwind. The investor who recognised the warning, and who positioned his portfolio for the unwind, survived the crisis. The investor who ignored the warning, and who chased the prices, learned the lesson the hard way. The lesson I tried to convey was that the disciplined investor must be willing to recognise a bubble when he sees one, and to refuse to participate, even at the cost of looking unfashionable during the boom.

But a man named Leo Goodwin had an idea for an even more efficient auto insurer and, with a skimpy $200,000, started GEICO in 1936. Goodwin’s plan was to eliminate the agent entirely and to deal instead directly with the auto owner. Why, he asked himself, should there be any unnecessary and expensive links in the distribution mechanism when the product, auto insurance, was both mandatory and costly. Purchasers of business insurance, he reasoned, might well require professional advice, but most consumers knew what they needed in an auto policy. That was a powerful insight. Originally, GEICO mailed its low-cost message to a limited audience of government employees. Later, it widened its horizons and shifted its marketing emphasis to the phone, working inquiries that came from broadcast and print advertising. And today the Internet is coming on strong. Between 1936 and 1975, GEICO grew from a standing start to a 4% market share, becoming the country’s fourth largest auto insurer. During most of this period, the company was superbly managed, achieving both excellent volume gains and high profits. It looked unstoppable. But after my friend and hero Lorimer Davidson retired as CEO in 1970, his successors soon made a huge mistake by under- reserving for losses. This produced faulty cost information, which in turn produced inadequate pricing. By 1976, GEICO was on the brink of failure.

When a reinsurer goes broke, staggering losses almost always strike the primary companies it has dealt with. This risk is far from minor: GEICO has suffered tens of millions in losses from its careless selection of reinsurers in the early 1980s. Were a true mega-catastrophe to occur in the next decade or two – and that’s a real possibility – some reinsurers would not survive. The largest insured loss to date is the World Trade Center disaster, which cost the insurance industry an estimated $35 billion. Hurricane Andrew cost insurers about $15.5 billion in 1992 (though that loss would be far higher in today’s dollars). Both events rocked the insurance and reinsurance world. But a $100 billion event, or even a larger catastrophe, remains a possibility if either a particularly severe earthquake or hurricane hits just the wrong place. Four significant hurricanes struck Florida during 2004, causing an aggregate of $25 billion or so in insured losses. Two of these – Charley and Ivan – could have done at least three times the damage they did had they entered the U.S. not far from their actual landing points. Many insurers regard a $100 billion industry loss as “unthinkable” and won’t even plan for it. But at Berkshire, we are fully prepared. Our share of the loss would probably be 3% to 5%, and earnings from our investments and other businesses would comfortably exceed that cost. When “the day after” arrives, Berkshire’s checks will clear. Though the hurricanes hit us with a $1.

I kept asking whether Las Vegas residents, conditioned to seven-day-a-week retailers, would adjust to us. Our first Las Vegas store, opened in 2001, answered this question in a resounding manner, immediately becoming our number one unit. Bill and Scott Hymas, his successor as CEO, then proposed a second Las Vegas store, only about 20 minutes away. I felt this expansion would cannibalize the first unit, adding significant costs but only modest sales. The result? Each store is now doing about 26% more volume than any other store in the chain and is consistently showing large year-over-year gains. R. C. Willey will soon open in Reno. Before making this commitment, Bill and Scott again asked for my advice. Initially, I was pretty puffed up about the fact that they were consulting me. But then it dawned on me that the opinion of someone who is always wrong has its own special utility to decision- makers.

This issue was traded in Euros that cost us 88¢ at the time of purchase but that brought $1.29 when we sold. Thus, of our $163 million overall gain, about $85 million came from the market’s revised opinion about Level 3’s credit quality, with the remaining $78 million resulting from the appreciation of the Euro. (In addition, we received cash interest during our holding period that amounted to about 25% annually on our dollar cost.) * * * * * * * * * * * * The media continue to report that “Buffett buys” this or that stock. Statements like these are almost always based on filings Berkshire makes with the SEC and are therefore wrong. As I’ve said before, the stories should say “Berkshire buys.”

But Berkshire’s resources remain heavily concentrated in dollar-based assets, and both a strong dollar and a low-inflation environment are very much in our interest. If you wish to keep abreast of trade and currency matters, read The Financial Times. This London-based paper has long been the leading source for daily international financial news and now has an excellent American edition. Both its reporting and commentary on trade are first-class. * * * * * * * * * * * * And, again, our usual caveat: macro-economics is a tough game in which few people, Charlie and I included, have demonstrated skill. We may well turn out to be wrong in our currency judgments. (Indeed, the fact that so many pundits now predict weakness for the dollar makes us uneasy.) If so, our mistake will be very public. The irony is that if we chose the opposite course, leaving all of Berkshire’s assets in dollars even as they declined significantly in value, no one would notice our mistake. John Maynard Keynes said in his masterful The General Theory: “Worldly wisdom teaches that it is better for reputation to fail conventionally than to succeed unconventionally.” (Or, to put it in less elegant terms, lemmings as a class may be derided but never does an individual lemming get criticized.) From a reputational standpoint, Charlie and I run a clear risk with our foreign-exchange commitment. But we believe in managing Berkshire as if we owned 100% of it ourselves.

In a 2003 Fortune article titled Squanderville versus Thriftville, I used a parable to make a point about the trade deficit. The parable described two islands, one of which consumed more than it produced, and the other of which produced more than it consumed. The consuming island, Squanderville, paid for its consumption by transferring ownership of its assets to the producing island, Thriftville. Over time, the Squanderville residents found themselves working for the Thriftville residents, and the standard of living on the two islands reversed. The parable was a description of what the United States was doing in 2003, with a trade deficit running at five percent of GDP, financed by the sale of American assets to foreign central banks. The inflation angle was that the structural forces pushing the dollar lower were large and persistent, and the dollar's eventual decline would, in effect, be a transfer of wealth from American consumers to foreign producers. The capital-allocation lesson was the one most readers missed. The trade deficit, in 2003, was being financed by the sale of American assets, mostly Treasury bonds, to foreign central banks. The foreign central banks were, in effect, accepting American paper in exchange for real goods. The transaction would prove to be a good one for them only if the dollar held its value. If the dollar fell, the real value of the paper they held would fall with it, and the goods they had sent to America would, in retrospect, have been sold at a discount. The capital-allocation decision facing the foreign central banks was whether to keep accepting American paper, or to start demanding real assets, like American companies and real estate, instead. The decision facing the American investor was whether to own assets whose value would survive a dollar decline, or to own dollar-denominated paper whose value would not. The mistakes-and-learning element was the most important part. I had been warning about the trade deficit since the late 1980s, and the deficit had kept growing. The lesson I drew in 2003 was that the structural forces pushing the deficit were large and persistent, and that the unwinding would be slow rather than sudden. The investor who positioned his portfolio for the unwinding, by owning real assets whose value would survive a dollar decline, had a long-run advantage over the investor who owned dollar-denominated paper. The lesson I tried to convey was that the trade deficit was not a temporary imbalance; it was a structural choice the country had made, and the unwinding would take decades rather than years. The investor who recognised the structural nature of the deficit, and who positioned his portfolio accordingly, would, over the long run, outperform the investor who assumed the deficit was temporary and would resolve itself without consequence.

In the 2002 shareholder letter I discussed derivatives at length, calling them financial weapons of mass destruction. The phrase was deliberate. We had watched Long-Term Capital Management almost bring the system down in 1998, and we had stumbled into a multi-billion-dollar basket of credit-default contracts whose mark-to-market swings were already producing large paper losses. The lesson I drew was not that derivatives are inherently evil, but that any contract whose value depends on the perceived creditworthiness of distant counterparties contains an embedded view on crowd psychology that the buyer almost never models honestly. People price these instruments as if normal times will continue forever, and then, when the cycle turns, the supposed hedge becomes the source of the loss. The discipline we adopted was to refuse contracts we could not underwrite ourselves, even at the cost of looking unfashionable in a busy, optimistic market. That same letter describes how our Gen Re Securities derivatives unit had been quietly building exposures we did not fully understand. The decision was to spend whatever it took, in money and managerial time, to unwind the book over several years rather than sell it quickly at a fire-sale price. Capital-allocation discipline here meant the willingness to absorb a known, ugly loss today in exchange for not owning a much uglier and unpredictable loss tomorrow. We treated the derivatives exit as an insurance underwriting problem: estimate the expected loss, add a margin for error, charge it off, and walk away. The cycle had taught us that complexity in finance is itself a form of leverage, because it hides the true exposure during the calm part of the cycle and reveals it only when liquidity vanishes and counterparties start failing in the next downturn. The market-psychology lesson is the one I have repeated most often since. During the late-1990s bubble, otherwise intelligent people convinced themselves that the rules of business valuation had been repealed by the internet. They had not. What had been repealed was only the willingness of lenders and counterparties to enforce the old rules. When the cycle turned, those rules came back with a vengeance, and the contracts written under the assumption that they would never return produced losses proportional to the optimism that had preceded them. The investor who remembers that crowd psychology is cyclical, not linear, has an enormous advantage over the investor who believes that whatever is happening today will continue happening forever. That single insight, applied patiently and with a strong balance sheet, explains most of Berkshire's long-run advantage over the traders who feed on noise and daily headlines.

Given our gain of 34.1%, it is tempting to declare victory and move on. But last year's performance was no great triumph: Any investor can chalk up large returns when stocks soar, as they did in 1997. In a bull market, one must avoid the error of the preening duck that quacks boastfully after a torrential rainstorm, thinking that its paddling skills have caused it to rise in the world. A right-thinking duck would instead compare its position after the downpour to that of the other ducks on the pond.

A short quiz: If you plan to eat hamburgers throughout your life and are not a cattle producer, should you wish for higher or lower prices for beef? Likewise, if you are going to buy a car from time to time but are not an auto manufacturer, should you prefer higher or lower car prices? These questions, of course, answer themselves. But now for the final exam: If you expect to be a net saver during the next five years, should you hope for a higher or lower stock market during that period? Many investors get this one wrong. Even though they are going to be net buyers of stocks for many years to come, they are elated when stock prices rise and depressed when they fall. In effect, they rejoice because prices have risen for the "hamburgers" they will soon be buying. This reaction makes no sense. Only those who will be sellers of equities in the near future should be happy at seeing stocks rise. Prospective purchasers should much prefer sinking prices.

Indeed, their reported costs (but not their true ones) will rise after they are bought by Berkshire if the acquiree has been granting options as part of its compensation packages. In these cases, "earnings" of the acquiree have been overstated because they have followed the standard -- but, in our view, dead wrong -- accounting practice of ignoring the cost to a business of issuing options. When Berkshire acquires an option-issuing company, we promptly substitute a cash compensation plan having an economic value equivalent to that of the previous option plan. The acquiree's true compensation cost is thereby brought out of the closet and charged, as it should be, against earnings.

In the summer of 1979, when equities looked cheap to me, I wrote a Forbes article entitled "You pay a very high price in the stock market for a cheery consensus." At that time skepticism and disappointment prevailed, and my point was that investors should be glad of the fact, since pessimism drives down prices to truly attractive levels. Now, however, we have a very cheery consensus. That does not necessarily mean this is the wrong time to buy stocks: Corporate America is now earning far more money than it was just a few years ago, and in the presence of lower interest rates, every dollar of earnings becomes more valuable. Today's price levels, though, have materially eroded the "margin of safety" that Ben Graham identified as the cornerstone of intelligent investing.

The resuscitation of US Airways borders on the miraculous. Those who have watched my moves in this investment know that I have compiled a record that is unblemished by success. I was wrong in originally purchasing the stock, and I was wrong later, in repeatedly trying to unload our holdings at 50 cents on the dollar. Two changes at the company coincided with its remarkable rebound: 1) Charlie and I left the board of directors and 2) Stephen Wolf became CEO. Fortunately for our egos, the second event was the key: Stephen Wolf's accomplishments at the airline have been phenomenal.

So what are the true odds of our having to make a payout during the policy's term? We don't know - nor do we think computer models will help us, since we believe the precision they project is a chimera. In fact, such models can lull decision-makers into a false sense of security and thereby increase their chances of making a really huge mistake. We've already seen such debacles in both insurance and investments. Witness "portfolio insurance," whose destructive effects in the 1987 market crash led one wag to observe that it was the computers that should have been jumping out of windows.

I liked and admired Ed Colodny, the company's then-CEO, and I still do. But my analysis of USAir's business was both superficial and wrong. I was so beguiled by the company's long history of profitable operations, and by the protection that ownership of a senior security seemingly offered me, that I overlooked the crucial point: USAir's revenues would increasingly feel the effects of an unregulated, fiercely- competitive market whereas its cost structure was a holdover from the days when regulation protected profits. These costs, if left unchecked, portended disaster, however reassuring the airline's past record might be. (If history supplied all of the answers, the Forbes 400 would consist of librarians.)

In recent years, it has been written that Charlie and I are unhappy about all investment-banking fees. That's dead wrong. We have paid a great many fees over the last 30 years - beginning with the check we wrote to Charlie Heider upon our purchase of National Indemnity in 1967 - and we are delighted to make payments that are commensurate with performance. In the case of the 1996 transactions at Salomon Brothers, we more than got our money's worth.

In the early 1970's, after Davy retired, the executives running GEICO made some serious errors in estimating their claims costs, a mistake that led the company to underprice its policies - and that almost caused it to go bankrupt. The company was saved only because Jack Byrne came in as CEO in 1976 and took drastic remedial measures. Because I believed both in Jack and in GEICO's fundamental competitive strength, Berkshire purchased a large interest in the company during the second half of 1976, and also made smaller purchases later. By yearend 1980, we had put $45.7 million into GEICO and owned 33.3% of its shares. During the next 15 years, we did not make further purchases. Our interest in the company, nonetheless, grew to about 50% because it was a big repurchaser of its own shares.

Indeed, our worst case from a "once-in-a-century" super-cat is far less severe - relative to net worth - than that faced by many well-known primary companies writing great numbers of property policies. These insurers don't issue single huge-limit policies as we do, but their small policies, in aggregate, can create a risk of staggering size. The "big one" would blow right through the reinsurance covers of some of these insurers, exposing them to uncapped losses that could threaten their survival. In our case, losses would be large, but capped at levels we could easily handle.

Berkshire's most difficult problem is World Book, which operates in an industry beset by increasingly tough competition from CD-ROM and on-line offerings. True, we are still profitable, a claim that perhaps no other print encyclopedia can make. But our sales and earnings trends have gone in the wrong direction. At the end of 1995, World Book made major changes in the way it distributes its product, stepped up its efforts with electronic products and sharply reduced its overhead costs. It will take time for us to evaluate the effects of these initiatives, but we are confident they will significantly improve our viability.

Our best holding has been Gillette, which we told you from the start was a superior business. Ironically, though, this is also the purchase in which I made my biggest mistake - of a kind, however, never recognized on financial statements. We paid $600 million in 1989 for Gillette preferred shares that were convertible into 48 million (split-adjusted) common shares. Taking an alternative route with the $600 million, I probably could have purchased 60 million shares of common from the company. The market on the common was then about $10.50, and given that this would have been a huge private placement carrying important restrictions, I probably could have bought the stock at a discount of at least 5%. I can't be sure about this, but it's likely that Gillette's management would have been just as happy to have Berkshire opt for common.

At Borsheim's, we will also have the world's largest faceted diamond on display. Two years in the cutting, this inconspicuous bauble is 545 carats in size. Please inspect this stone and let it guide you in determining what size gem is appropriate for the one you love. On Saturday evening, May 4, there will be a baseball game at Rosenblatt Stadium between the Omaha Royals and the Louisville Redbirds. I expect to make the opening pitch - owning a quarter of the team assures me of one start per year - but our manager, Mike Jirschele, will probably make his usual mistake and yank me immediately after. About 1,700 shareholders attended last year's game. Unfortunately, we had a rain-out, which greatly disappointed the many scouts in the stands. But the smart ones will be back this year, and I plan to show them my best stuff.

All things considered, we believe our worst-case insurance loss from a super-cat is now about $600 million after-tax, an amount that would slightly exceed Berkshire's annual earnings from other sources. If you are not comfortable with this level of exposure, the time to sell your Berkshire stock is now, not after the inevitable mega-catastrophe. Our super-cat volume will probably be down in 1995. Prices for garden-variety policies have fallen somewhat, and the torrent of capital that was committed to the reinsurance business a few years ago will be inclined to chase premiums, irrespective of their adequacy. Nevertheless, we have strong relations with an important group of clients who will provide us with a substantial amount of business in 1995.

Our investments continue to be few in number and simple in concept: The truly big investment idea can usually be explained in a short paragraph. We like a business with enduring competitive advantages that is run by able and owner-oriented people. When these attributes exist, and when we can make purchases at sensible prices, it is hard to go wrong (a challenge we periodically manage to overcome).

Obviously American Express and IDS (recently renamed American Express Financial Advisors) are far different operations today from what they were then. Nevertheless, I find that a long-term familiarity with a company and its products is often helpful in evaluating it. Mistakes occur at the time of decision. We can only make our mistake-du-jour award, however, when the foolishness of the decision become obvious. By this measure, 1994 was a vintage year with keen competition for the gold medal. Here, I would like to tell you that the mistakes I will describe originated with Charlie. But whenever I try to explain things that way, my nose begins to grow.

Egregious as it is, the Cap Cities decision earns only a silver medal. Top honors go to a mistake I made five years ago that fully ripened in 1994: Our $358 million purchase of USAir preferred stock, on which the dividend was suspended in September. In the 1990 Annual Report I correctly described this deal as an "unforced error," meaning that I was neither pushed into the investment nor misled by anyone when making it. Rather, this was a case of sloppy analysis, a lapse that may have been caused by the fact that we were buying a senior security or by hubris. Whatever the reason, the mistake was large.

That is a tough goal, but one that we expect you to hold us to. In the past, we've criticized the managerial practice of shooting the arrow of performance and then painting the target, centering it on whatever point the arrow happened to hit. We will instead risk embarrassment by painting first and shooting later. If we are to hit the bull's-eye, we will need markets that allow the purchase of businesses and securities on sensible terms. Right now, markets are difficult, but they can - and will - change in unexpected ways and at unexpected times. In the meantime, we'll try to resist the temptation to do something marginal simply because we are long on cash. There's no use running if you're on the wrong road.

Academics, however, like to define investment "risk" differently, averring that it is the relative volatility of a stock or portfolio of stocks - that is, their volatility as compared to that of a large universe of stocks. Employing data bases and statistical skills, these academics compute with precision the "beta" of a stock - its relative volatility in the past - and then build arcane investment and capital-allocation theories around this calculation. In their hunger for a single statistic to measure risk, however, they forget a fundamental principle: It is better to be approximately right than precisely wrong.

For the boards just discussed, I believe the directors ought to be relatively few in number - say, ten or less - and ought to come mostly from the outside. The outside board members should establish standards for the CEO's performance and should also periodically meet, without his being present, to evaluate his performance against those standards. The requisites for board membership should be business savvy, interest in the job, and owner-orientation. Too often, directors are selected simply because they are prominent or add diversity to the board. That practice is a mistake. Furthermore, mistakes in selecting directors are particularly serious because appointments are so hard to undo: The pleasant but vacuous director need never worry about job security.

In the third case, the owner is neither judging himself nor burdened with the problem of garnering a majority. He can also insure that outside directors are selected who will bring useful qualities to the board. These directors, in turn, will know that the good advice they give will reach the right ears, rather than being stifled by a recalcitrant management. If the controlling owner is intelligent and self-confident, he will make decisions in respect to management that are meritocratic and pro-shareholder. Moreover - and this is critically important - he can readily correct any mistake he makes.

We cannot promise to achieve the $1.8 billion target. Indeed, we may not even come close to it. But it does guide our decision- making: When we allocate capital today, we are thinking about what will maximize look-through earnings in 2000. We do not, however, see this long-term focus as eliminating the need for us to achieve decent short-term results as well. After all, we were thinking long-range thoughts five or ten years ago, and the moves we made then should now be paying off. If plantings made confidently are repeatedly followed by disappointing harvests, something is wrong with the farmer. (Or perhaps with the farm: Investors should understand that for certain companies, and even for some industries, there simply is no good long-term strategy.) Just as you should be suspicious of managers who pump up short-term earnings by accounting maneuvers, asset sales and the like, so also should you be suspicious of those managers who fail to deliver for extended periods and blame it on their long-term focus. (Even Alice, after listening to the Queen lecture her about "jam tomorrow," finally insisted, "It must come sometimes to jam today.")

Though the mathematical calculations required to evaluate equities are not difficult, an analyst - even one who is experienced and intelligent - can easily go wrong in estimating future "coupons." At Berkshire, we attempt to deal with this problem in two ways. First, we try to stick to businesses we believe we understand. That means they must be relatively simple and stable in character. If a business is complex or subject to constant change, we're not smart enough to predict future cash flows. Incidentally, that shortcoming doesn't bother us. What counts for most people in investing is not how much they know, but rather how realistically they define what they don't know. An investor needs to do very few things right as long as he or she avoids big mistakes.

In making acquisitions, Charlie and I have tended to avoid companies with significant post-retirement liabilities. As a result, Berkshire's present liability and future costs for post- retirement health benefits - though we now have 22,000 employees - are inconsequential. I need to admit, though, that we had a near miss: In 1982 I made a huge mistake in committing to buy a company burdened by extraordinary post-retirement health obligations. Luckily, though, the transaction fell through for reasons beyond our control. Reporting on this episode in the 1982 annual report, I said: "If we were to introduce graphics to this report, illustrating favorable business developments of the past year, two blank pages depicting this blown deal would be the appropriate centerfold." Even so, I wasn't expecting things to get as bad as they did. Another buyer appeared, the business soon went bankrupt and was shut down, and thousands of workers found those bountiful health-care promises to be largely worthless.

John Maynard Keynes, whose brilliance as a practicing investor matched his brilliance in thought, wrote a letter to a business associate, F. C. Scott, on August 15, 1934 that says it all: "As time goes on, I get more and more convinced that the right method in investment is to put fairly large sums into enterprises which one thinks one knows something about and in the management of which one thoroughly believes. It is a mistake to think that one limits one's risk by spreading too much between enterprises about which one knows little and has no reason for special confidence. . . . One's knowledge and experience are definitely limited and there are seldom more than two or three enterprises at any given time in which I personally feel myself entitled to put full confidence."

After we bought about 7 million shares, the price began to climb. In frustration, I stopped buying (a mistake that, thankfully, I did not repeat when Coca-Cola stock rose similarly during our purchase program). In an even sillier move, I surrendered to my distaste for holding small positions and sold the 7 million shares we owned. I wish I could give you a halfway rational explanation for my amateurish behavior vis-a-vis Fannie Mae. But there isn't one. What I can give you is an estimate as of yearend 1991 of the approximate gain that Berkshire didn't make because of your Chairman's mistake: about $1.4 billion.

Unless these companies can materially improve their underwriting performance - and history indicates that is an almost impossible task - their shareholders will experience results similar to those borne by the owners of a bank that pays a higher rate of interest on deposits than it receives on loans. All in all, the insurance business has treated us very well. We have expanded our float at a cost that on the average is reasonable, and we have further prospered because we have earned good returns on these low-cost funds. Our shareholders, true, have incurred extra taxes, but they have been more than compensated for this cost (so far) by the benefits produced by the float. A particularly encouraging point about our record is that it was achieved despite some colossal mistakes made by your Chairman prior to Mike Goldberg's arrival. Insurance offers a host of opportunities for error, and when opportunity knocked, too often I answered. Many years later, the bills keep arriving for these mistakes: In the insurance business, there is no statute of limitations on stupidity. The intrinsic value of our insurance business will always be far more difficult to calculate than the value of, say, our candy or newspaper companies. By any measure, however, the business is worth far more than its carrying value. Furthermore, despite the problems this operation periodically hands us, it is the one - among all the fine businesses we own - that has the greatest potential.

When these misdeeds were done, however, dagger-selling investment bankers pointed to the "scholarly" research of academics, which reported that over the years the higher interest rates received from low-grade bonds had more than compensated for their higher rate of default. Thus, said the friendly salesmen, a diversified portfolio of junk bonds would produce greater net returns than would a portfolio of high-grade bonds. (Beware of past-performance "proofs" in finance: If history books were the key to riches, the Forbes 400 would consist of librarians.) There was a flaw in the salesmen's logic - one that a first- year student in statistics is taught to recognize. An assumption was being made that the universe of newly-minted junk bonds was identical to the universe of low-grade fallen angels and that, therefore, the default experience of the latter group was meaningful in predicting the default experience of the new issues. (That was an error similar to checking the historical death rate from Kool-Aid before drinking the version served at Jonestown.) The universes were of course dissimilar in several vital respects. For openers, the manager of a fallen angel almost invariably yearned to regain investment-grade status and worked toward that goal. The junk-bond operator was usually an entirely different breed. Behaving much as a heroin user might, he devoted his energies not to finding a cure for his debt-ridden condition, but rather to finding another fix.

Convertible Preferred Stocks We continue to hold the convertible preferred stocks described in earlier reports: $700 million of Salomon Inc, $600 million of The Gillette Company, $358 million of USAir Group, Inc. and $300 million of Champion International Corp. Our Gillette holdings will be converted into 12 million shares of common stock on April 1. Weighing interest rates, credit quality and prices of the related common stocks, we can assess our holdings in Salomon and Champion at yearend 1990 as worth about what we paid, Gillette as worth somewhat more, and USAir as worth substantially less. In making the USAir purchase, your Chairman displayed exquisite timing: I plunged into the business at almost the exact moment that it ran into severe problems. (No one pushed me; in tennis parlance, I committed an "unforced error.") The company's troubles were brought on both by industry conditions and by the post-merger difficulties it encountered in integrating Piedmont, an affliction I should have expected since almost all airline mergers have been followed by operational turmoil. In short order, Ed Colodny and Seth Schofield resolved the second problem: The airline now gets excellent marks for service. Industry-wide problems have proved to be far more serious. Since our purchase, the economics of the airline industry have deteriorated at an alarming pace, accelerated by the kamikaze pricing tactics of certain carriers.

Miscellaneous Ken Chace has decided not to stand for reelection as a director at our upcoming annual meeting. We have no mandatory retirement age for directors at Berkshire (and won't!), but Ken, at 75 and living in Maine, simply decided to cut back his activities. Ken was my immediate choice to run the textile operation after Buffett Partnership, Ltd. assumed control of Berkshire early in 1965. Although I made an economic mistake in sticking with the textile business, I made no mistake in choosing Ken: He ran the operation well, he was always 100% straight with me about its problems, and he generated the funds that allowed us to diversify into insurance. My wife, Susan, will be nominated to succeed Ken. She is now the second largest shareholder of Berkshire and if she outlives me will inherit all of my stock and effectively control the company. She knows, and agrees, with my thoughts on successor management and also shares my view that neither Berkshire nor its subsidiary businesses and important investments should be sold simply because some very high bid is received for one or all. I feel strongly that the fate of our businesses and their managers should not depend on my health - which, it should be added, is excellent - and I have planned accordingly. Neither my estate plan nor that of my wife is designed to preserve the family fortune; instead, both are aimed at preserving the character of Berkshire and returning the fortune to society.

Dear _____________: Here are a few thoughts pursuant to our conversation of the other day. Most business owners spend the better part of their lifetimes building their businesses. By experience built upon endless repetition, they sharpen their skills in merchandising, purchasing, personnel selection, etc. It's a learning process, and mistakes made in one year often contribute to competence and success in succeeding years. In contrast, owner-managers sell their business only once -- frequently in an emotionally-charged atmosphere with a multitude of pressures coming from different directions. Often, much of the pressure comes from brokers whose compensation is contingent upon consummation of a sale, regardless of its consequences for both buyer and seller. The fact that the decision is so important, both financially and personally, to the owner can make the process more, rather than less, prone to error. And, mistakes made in the once-in-a-lifetime sale of a business are not reversible. Price is very important, but often is not the most critical aspect of the sale. You and your family have an extraordinary business -- one of a kind in your field -- and any buyer is going to recognize that. It's also a business that is going to get more valuable as the years go by. So if you decide not to sell now, you are very likely to realize more money later on. With that knowledge you can deal from strength and take the time required to select the buyer you want.

Now we would rather stay put, even if that means slightly lower returns. Our reason is simple: We have found splendid business relationships to be so rare and so enjoyable that we want to retain all we develop. This decision is particularly easy for us because we feel that these relationships will produce good - though perhaps not optimal - financial results. Considering that, we think it makes little sense for us to give up time with people we know to be interesting and admirable for time with others we do not know and who are likely to have human qualities far closer to average. That would be akin to marrying for money - a mistake under most circumstances, insanity if one is already rich.

Another plug for newspapers: NFM increased its linage in the local paper by over 20% in 1989 - off a record 1988 - and remains the paper's largest ROP advertiser by far. (ROP advertising is the kind printed in the paper, as opposed to that in preprinted inserts.) To my knowledge, Omaha is the only city in which a home furnishings store is the advertising leader. Many retailers cut space purchases in 1989; our experience at See's and NFM would indicate they made a major mistake.

o My first mistake, of course, was in buying control of Berkshire. Though I knew its business - textile manufacturing - to be unpromising, I was enticed to buy because the price looked cheap. Stock purchases of that kind had proved reasonably rewarding in my early years, though by the time Berkshire came along in 1965 I was becoming aware that the strategy was not ideal.

o Our consistently-conservative financial policies may appear to have been a mistake, but in my view were not. In retrospect, it is clear that significantly higher, though still conventional, leverage ratios at Berkshire would have produced considerably better returns on equity than the 23.8% we have actually averaged. Even in 1965, perhaps we could have judged there to be a 99% probability that higher leverage would lead to nothing but good. Correspondingly, we might have seen only a 1% chance that some shock factor, external or internal, would cause a conventional debt ratio to produce a result falling somewhere between temporary anguish and default.

Berkshire's past rates of gain in both book value and business value were achieved under circumstances far different from those that now exist. Anyone ignoring these differences makes the same mistake that a baseball manager would were he to judge the future prospects of a 42-year-old center fielder on the basis of his lifetime batting average. Important negatives affecting our prospects today are: (1) a less attractive stock market than generally existed over the past 24 years; (2) higher corporate tax rates on most forms of investment income; (3) a far more richly-priced market for the acquisition of businesses; and (4) industry conditions for Capital Cities/ABC, Inc., GEICO Corporation, and The Washington Post Company - Berkshire's three permanent investments, constituting about one-half of our net worth - that range from slightly to materially less favorable than those existing five to ten years ago. All of these companies have superb management and strong properties. But, at current prices, their upside potential looks considerably less exciting to us today than it did some years ago.

We have no strong views about the desirability of this change in calculation of deferred taxes. We should point out, however, that neither a 28% nor a 34% tax liability precisely depicts economic reality at Berkshire since we have no plans to sell the stocks in which we have the great bulk of our gains. To those of you who are uninterested in accounting, I apologize for this dissertation. I realize that many of you do not pore over our figures, but instead hold Berkshire primarily because you know that: (1) Charlie and I have the bulk of our money in Berkshire; (2) we intend to run things so that your gains or losses are in direct proportion to ours; and (3) the record has so far been satisfactory. There is nothing necessarily wrong with this kind of 'faith' approach to investing. Other shareholders, however, prefer an 'analysis' approach and we want to supply the information they need. In our own investing, we search for situations in which both approaches give us the same answer.

It was in 1983 that Berkshire purchased an 80% interest in The Nebraska Furniture Mart. Your Chairman blundered then by neglecting to ask Mrs. B a question any schoolboy would have thought of: 'Are there any more at home like you?' Last month I corrected the error: We are now 80% partners with another branch of the family. After Mrs. B came over from Russia in 1917, her parents and five siblings followed. (Her two other siblings had preceded her.) Among the sisters was Rebecca Friedman who, with her husband, Louis, escaped in 1922 to the west through Latvia in a journey as perilous as Mrs. B's earlier odyssey to the east through Manchuria. When the family members reunited in Omaha they had no tangible assets. However, they came equipped with an extraordinary combination of brains, integrity, and enthusiasm for work - and that's all they needed. They have since proved themselves invincible.

But the CEO's boss is a Board of Directors that seldom measures itself and is infrequently held to account for substandard corporate performance. If the Board makes a mistake in hiring, and perpetuates that mistake, so what? Even if the company is taken over because of the mistake, the deal will probably bestow substantial benefits on the outgoing Board members. (The bigger they are, the softer they fall.)

Yet proponents of the theory have never seemed interested in discordant evidence of this type. True, they don't talk quite as much about their theory today as they used to. But no one, to my knowledge, has ever said he was wrong, no matter how many thousands of students he has sent forth misinstructed. EMT, moreover, continues to be an integral part of the investment curriculum at major business schools. Apparently, a reluctance to recant, and thereby to demystify the priesthood, is not limited to theologians.

Experience, however, indicates that the best business returns are usually achieved by companies that are doing something quite similar today to what they were doing five or ten years ago. That is no argument for managerial complacency. Businesses always have opportunities to improve service, product lines, manufacturing techniques, and the like, and obviously these opportunities should be seized. But a business that constantly encounters major change also encounters many chances for major error. Furthermore, economic terrain that is forever shifting violently is ground on which it is difficult to build a fortress-like business franchise. Such a franchise is usually the key to sustained high returns.

Nevertheless, auditors annually certify the numbers given them by management and in their opinions unqualifiedly state that these figures "present fairly" the financial position of their clients. The auditors use this reassuring language even though they know from long and painful experience that the numbers so certified are likely to differ dramatically from the true earnings of the period. Despite this history of error, investors understandably rely upon auditors' opinions. After all, a declaration saying that "the statements present fairly" hardly sounds equivocal to the non-accountant.

In making both control purchases and stock purchases, we try to buy not only good businesses, but ones run by high-grade, talented and likeable managers. If we make a mistake about the managers we link up with, the controlled company offers a certain advantage because we have the power to effect change. In practice, however, this advantage is somewhat illusory: Management changes, like marital changes, are painful, time- consuming and chancy. In any event, at our three marketable-but permanent holdings, this point is moot: With Tom Murphy and Dan Burke at Cap Cities, Bill Snyder and Lou Simpson at GEICO, and Kay Graham and Dick Simmons at The Washington Post, we simply couldn't be in better hands.

Many commentators, however, have drawn an incorrect conclusion upon observing recent events: They are fond of saying that the small investor has no chance in a market now dominated by the erratic behavior of the big boys. This conclusion is dead wrong: Such markets are ideal for any investor - small or large - so long as he sticks to his investment knitting. Volatility caused by money managers who speculate irrationally with huge sums will offer the true investor more chances to make intelligent investment moves. He can be hurt by such volatility only if he is forced, by either financial or psychological pressures, to sell at untoward times.

As an alternative to short-term cash equivalents, our medium-term tax-exempts have - so far served us well. They have produced substantial extra income for us and are currently worth a bit above our cost. Regardless of their market price, we are ready to dispose of our bonds whenever something better comes along. o We continue to have an aversion to long-term bonds (and may be making a serious mistake by not disliking medium-term bonds as well). Bonds are no better than the currency in which they are denominated, and nothing we have seen in the past year - or past decade - makes us enthusiastic about the long-term future of U.S. currency.

Both the timing and the sweep of those consequences are unpredictable. But our inability to quantify or time the risk does not mean we should ignore it. While recognizing the possibility that we may be wrong and that present interest rates may adequately compensate for the inflationary risk, we retain a general fear of long-term bonds. We are, however, willing to invest a moderate portion of our funds in this category if we think we have a significant edge in a specific security. That willingness explains our holdings of the Washington Public Power Supply Systems #1, #2 and #3 issues, discussed in our 1984 report. We added to our WPPSS position during 1987. At yearend, we had holdings with an amortized cost of $240 million and a market value of $316 million, paying us tax-exempt income of $34 million annually.

Two further comments about our investments in marketable securities are appropriate. First, we give you our usual warning: Our holdings have changed since yearend and will continue to do so without notice. The second comment is related: During 1987, as in some earlier years, there was speculation in the press from time to time about our purchase or sale of various securities. These stories were sometimes true, sometimes partially true, and other times completely untrue. Interestingly, there has been no correlation between the size and prestige of the publication and the accuracy of the report. One dead-wrong rumor was given considerable prominence by a major national magazine, and another leading publication misled its readers by writing about an arbitrage position as if it were a long-term investment commitment. (In not naming names, I am observing the old warning that it's not wise to pick fights with people who buy ink by the barrel.)

The 1986 loss reserve development of our insurance group is chronicled on page 46. The figures show the amount of error in our yearend 1985 liabilities that a year of settlements and further evaluation has revealed. As you can see, what I told you last year about our loss liabilities was far from true - and that makes three years in a row of error. If the physiological rules that applied to Pinocchio were to apply to me, my nose would now draw crowds.

We also, though it takes some straining, currently view medium-term tax-exempt bonds as an alternative to short-term Treasury holdings. Buying these bonds, we run a risk of significant loss if, as seems probable, we sell many of them well before maturity. However, we believe this risk is more than counter-balanced first, by the much higher after-tax returns currently realizable from these securities as compared to Treasury Bills and second, by the possibility that sales will produce an overall profit rather than a loss. Our expectation of a higher total return, after allowing for the possibility of loss and after taking into account all tax effects, is a relatively close call and could well be wrong. Even if we sell our bonds at a fairly large loss, however, we may end up reaping a higher after-tax return than we would have realized by repeatedly rolling over Treasury Bills.

Our owner-earnings equation does not yield the deceptively precise figures provided by GAAP, since( c) must be a guess - and one sometimes very difficult to make. Despite this problem, we consider the owner earnings figure, not the GAAP figure, to be the relevant item for valuation purposes - both for investors in buying stocks and for managers in buying entire businesses. We agree with Keynes's observation: "I would rather be vaguely right than precisely wrong." The approach we have outlined produces "owner earnings" for Company O and Company N that are identical, which means valuations are also identical, just as common sense would tell you should be the case. This result is reached because the sum of (a) and (b) is the same in both columns O and N, and because( c) is necessarily the same in both cases. And what do Charlie and I, as owners and managers, believe is the correct figure for the owner earnings of Scott Fetzer? Under current circumstances, we believe ( c) is very close to the "old" company's (b) number of $8.3 million and much below the "new" company's (b) number of $19.9 million. Therefore, we believe that owner earnings are far better depicted by the reported earnings in the O column than by those in the N column. In other words, we feel owner earnings of Scott Fetzer are considerably larger than the GAAP figures that we report. That is obviously a happy state of affairs. But calculations of this sort usually do not provide such pleasant news.

It turned out that I was very wrong about (4). Though 1979 was moderately profitable, the business thereafter consumed major amounts of cash. By mid-1985 it became clear, even to me, that this condition was almost sure to continue. Could we have found a buyer who would continue operations, I would have certainly preferred to sell the business rather than liquidate it, even if that meant somewhat lower proceeds for us. But the economics that were finally obvious to me were also obvious to others, and interest was nil.

In any business, insurance or otherwise, 'except for' should be excised from the lexicon. If you are going to play the game, you must count the runs scored against you in all nine innings. Any manager who consistently says 'except for' and then reports on the lessons he has learned from his mistakes may be missing the only important lesson - namely, that the real mistake is not the act, but the actor.

Inevitably, of course, business errors will occur and the wise manager will try to find the proper lessons in them. But the trick is to learn most lessons from the experiences of others. Managers who have learned much from personal experience in the past usually are destined to learn much from personal experience in the future. GEICO, 38%-owned by Berkshire, reported an excellent year in 1985 in premium growth and investment results, but a poor year - by its lofty standards - in underwriting. Private passenger auto and homeowners insurance were the only important lines in the industry whose results deteriorated significantly during the year. GEICO did not escape the trend, although its record was far better than that of virtually all its major competitors.

The necessarily-extensive use of estimates in assembling the figures that appear in such deceptively precise form in the income statement of property/casualty companies means that some error must seep in, no matter how proper the intentions of management. In an attempt to minimize error, most insurers use various statistical techniques to adjust the thousands of individual loss evaluations (called case reserves) that comprise the raw data for estimation of aggregate liabilities. The extra reserves created by these adjustments are variously labeled 'bulk', 'development', or 'supplemental' reserves. The goal of the adjustments should be a loss-reserve total that has a 50-50 chance of being proved either slightly too high or slightly too low when all losses that occurred prior to the date of the financial statement are ultimately paid.

Because our business is weighted toward casualty and reinsurance lines, we have more problems in estimating loss costs than companies that specialize in property insurance. (When a building that you have insured burns down, you get a much faster fix on your costs than you do when an employer you have insured finds out that one of his retirees has contracted a disease attributable to work he did decades earlier.) But I still find our errors embarrassing. In our direct business, we have far underestimated the mushrooming tendency of juries and courts to make the 'deep pocket' pay, regardless of the factual situation and the past precedents for establishment of liability. We also have underestimated the contagious effect that publicity regarding giant awards has on juries. In the reinsurance area, where we have had our worst experience in under reserving, our customer insurance companies have made the same mistakes. Since we set reserves based on information they supply us, their mistakes have become our mistakes.

If you've been in the insurance business in recent years - particularly the reinsurance business - this story hurts. We have tried to include all of our 'rented suit' liabilities in our current financial statement, but our record of past error should make us humble, and you suspicious. I will continue to report to you the errors, plus or minus, that surface each year.

The loss-reserving errors of other property/casualty companies are of more than academic interest to Berkshire. Not only does Berkshire suffer from sell-at-any-price competition by the 'walking dead', but we also suffer when their insolvency is finally acknowledged. Through various state guarantee funds that levy assessments, Berkshire ends up paying a portion of the insolvent insurers' asset deficiencies, swollen as they usually are by the delayed detection that results from wrong reporting. There is even some potential for cascading trouble. The insolvency of a few large insurers and the assessments by state guarantee funds that would follow could imperil weak-but- previously-solvent insurers. Such dangers can be mitigated if state regulators become better at prompt identification and termination of insolvent insurers, but progress on that front has been slow.

Our equation is different. With 47% of Berkshire's stock, Charlie and I don't worry about being fired, and we receive our rewards as owners, not managers. Thus we behave with Berkshire's money as we would with our own. That frequently leads us to unconventional behavior both in investments and general business management. We remain unconventional in the degree to which we concentrate the investments of our insurance companies, including those in WPPSS bonds. This concentration makes sense only because our insurance business is conducted from a position of exceptional financial strength. For almost all other insurers, a comparable degree of concentration (or anything close to it) would be totally inappropriate. Their capital positions are not strong enough to withstand a big error, no matter how attractive an investment opportunity might appear when analyzed on the basis of probabilities.

An analysis similar to that made by our hypothetical bondholder is appropriate for owners in thinking about whether a company's unrestricted earnings should be retained or paid out. Of course, the analysis is much more difficult and subject to error because the rate earned on reinvested earnings is not a contractual figure, as in our bond case, but rather a fluctuating figure. Owners must guess as to what the rate will average over the intermediate future. However, once an informed guess is made, the rest of the analysis is simple: you should wish your earnings to be reinvested if they can be expected to earn high returns, and you should wish them paid to you if low returns are the likely outcome of reinvestment.

While many auto policies are priced and sold at six-month intervals - and many property policies are sold for a three-year term - a weighted average of the duration of all property- casualty insurance policies probably runs a little under twelve months. And prices for the insurance coverage, of course, are frozen for the life of the contract. Thus, this year's sales contracts ('premium written' in the parlance of the industry) determine about one-half of next year's level of revenue ('premiums earned'). The remaining half will be determined by sales contracts written next year that will be about 50% earned in that year. The profitability consequences are automatic: if you make a mistake in pricing, you have to live with it for an uncomfortable period of time.

During the past year we have cut back the scope of our textile business. Operations at Waumbec Mills have been terminated, reluctantly but necessarily. Some equipment was transferred to New Bedford but most has been sold, or will be, along with real estate. Your Chairman made a costly mistake in not facing the realities of this situation sooner. At New Bedford we have reduced the number of looms operated by about one-third, abandoning some high-volume lines in which product differentiation was insignificant. Even assuming everything went right - which it seldom did - these lines could not generate adequate returns related to investment. And, over a full industry cycle, losses were the most likely result.

We can speak from experience, having tried the other route. Your Chairman made the decision a few years ago to purchase Waumbec Mills in Manchester, New Hampshire, thereby expanding our textile commitment. By any statistical test, the purchase price was an extraordinary bargain; we bought well below the working capital of the business and, in effect, got very substantial amounts of machinery and real estate for less than nothing. But the purchase was a mistake. While we labored mightily, new problems arose as fast as old problems were tamed.

Both our operating and investment experience cause us to conclude that 'turnarounds' seldom turn, and that the same energies and talent are much better employed in a good business purchased at a fair price than in a poor business purchased at a bargain price. Although a mistake, the Waumbec acquisition has not been a disaster. Certain portions of the operation are proving to be valuable additions to our decorator line (our strongest franchise) at New Bedford, and it's possible that we may be able to run profitably on a considerably reduced scale at Manchester. However, our original rationale did not prove out.

However, the mild degree of caution that we exercised was an improper response to the world unfolding about us. You do not adequately protect yourself by being half awake while others are sleeping. It was a mistake to buy fifteen-year bonds, and yet we did; we made an even more serious mistake in not selling them (at losses, if necessary) when our present views began to crystallize. (Naturally, those views are much clearer and definite in retrospect; it would be fair for you to ask why we weren't writing about this subject last year.)

Harking back to our textile experience, we should have realized the futility of trying to be very clever (via sinking funds and other special type issues) in an area where the tide was running heavily against us. We have severe doubts as to whether a very long-term fixed- interest bond, denominated in dollars, remains an appropriate business contract in a world where the value of dollars seems almost certain to shrink by the day. Those dollars, as well as paper creations of other governments, simply may have too many structural weaknesses to appropriately serve as a unit of long term commercial reference. If so, really long bonds may turn out to be obsolete instruments and insurers who have bought those maturities of 2010 or 2020 could have major and continuing problems on their hands. We, likewise, will be unhappy with our fifteen-year bonds and will annually pay a price in terms of earning power that reflects that mistake.

Last year we said that we expected operating earnings in dollars to improve but return on equity to decrease. This turned out to be correct. Our forecast for 1980 is the same. If we are wrong, it will be on the downside. In other words, we are virtually certain that our operating earnings expressed as a percentage of the new equity base of approximately $236 million, valuing securities at cost, will decline from the 18.6% attained in 1979. There is also a fair chance that operating earnings in aggregate dollars will fall short of 1979; the outcome depends partly upon the date of disposition of the bank, partly upon the degree of slippage in insurance underwriting profitability, and partly upon the severity of earnings problems in the savings and loan industry.

This approach produces an occasional major mistake that might have been eliminated or minimized through closer operating controls. But it also eliminates large layers of costs and dramatically speeds decision-making. Because everyone has a great deal to do, a very great deal gets done. Most important of all, it enables us to attract and retain some extraordinarily talented individuals - people who simply can't be hired in the normal course of events - who find working for Berkshire to be almost identical to running their own show.