Warren Buffett's Thanksgiving Letter to Shareholders, November 10, 2025

Today, Warren Buffett converted 1,800 Class A shares into 2.7 million Class B shares and donated these Class B shares to four family foundations: 1.5 million shares to the Susan Thompson Buffett Foundation, and 400,000 shares each to the Sherwood Foundation, the Howard Buffett Foundation, and the Novo Foundation. These donations were completed today. The following is Mr. Buffett's speech to other shareholders: To all shareholders: I will no longer write Berkshire's annual report, nor will I speak at length at the annual shareholders' meeting. In British terms, I'm going to "shut up." I suppose so. Greg Abel will take over as boss at the end of the year. He is an excellent manager, hardworking, and honest. We wish him a long and successful tenure. I will continue to speak to you and my children about Berkshire through my annual Thanksgiving address. Berkshire's individual shareholders are a very special group who generously share their profits with those less fortunate than myself. I am delighted to have the opportunity to stay in touch with you. This year, allow me to begin with a brief reminiscing. Afterward, I will discuss my plans for allocating Berkshire shares. Finally, I will share some thoughts on the company and on myself. With Thanksgiving approaching, I feel both grateful and amazed to have lived to 95. When I was younger, I never dared to dream of living this long. In my early years, I nearly died. That was in 1938, when residents of Omaha considered hospitals to be either Catholic or Protestant, a classification that seemed quite natural at the time. Our family doctor, Halley Hotz, was a kind and approachable Catholic who always carried a black medical bag when he went out on house calls. Dr. Hotz called me "Captain," and he never charged much for his consultations. In 1938, I had a severe stomachache, and Dr. Hotz came to examine me, did a quick check-up, and told me I would be better by the next morning. Afterwards, he went home, had dinner, and played bridge for a while. However, Dr. Hotz couldn't stop thinking about my somewhat strange symptoms, and later that evening he arranged for me to have an emergency appendectomy at St. Catherine's Hospital. For the next three weeks, I felt as if I were in a convent, beginning to enjoy my new "preaching platform." I loved to talk—yes, even then—and the nuns accepted me. To make matters worse, my third-grade teacher, Miss Madsen, made each of my 30 classmates write me a letter. I probably threw away all the boys' letters, but I read the girls' letters over and over again; being hospitalized wasn't all bad, though. The most comforting thing during my recovery—though the first week was mostly tough—was a gift from my dear Aunt Eddie. She brought me a very professional-looking fingerprint collection kit, and I immediately collected fingerprints from all the nuns who came to my house. (I was probably the first Protestant child they met at St. Catherine's Convent, and they had no idea what was going to happen.) My theory—which, of course, was utterly far-fetched—was that one day a nun would fall from grace, and the FBI would discover they had neglected to collect her fingerprints. In the 1930s, the FBI and its director, Edgar Hoover, were highly respected in America, and I even fantasized about Mr. Hoover himself coming to Omaha to inspect my precious collection. I also fantasized that Hoover and I would quickly find and arrest that rebellious nun. That would surely make me famous nationwide. Clearly, my fantasy ultimately failed to materialize. Ironically, however, years later I realized I should have taken Hoover's fingerprints, as he had been disgraced for abusing his power. That was Omaha in the 1930s, and my friends and I dreamed of owning a sled, a bicycle, a baseball glove, and an electric train. Let's look at a few other kids from that era who lived near me and had a significant impact on my life, but whom I know nothing about. Let me begin with Charlie Munger, my dear friend of 64 years. In the 1930s, Charlie lived a block away from the house I had owned and lived in since 1958. In my early years, I almost became friends with Charlie. Charlie was six years and nine months older than me. In the summer of 1940, he worked at my grandfather's grocery store, working ten hours a day for two dollars. (Frugality is a Buffett family tradition.) The following year, I did a similar job at the store, but I didn't meet Charlie until 1959, when he was 35 and I was 28. After World War II, Charlie graduated from Harvard Law School and then permanently moved to California. However, Charlie always believed that his early life in Omaha had a profound impact on him. For over sixty years, Charlie has had a tremendous influence on me; he was an impeccable teacher and a protective "big brother." Although we had disagreements, we never argued. The phrase "I told you so" was never in his vocabulary. In 1958, I bought my first and only house. It was in Omaha, of course, about two miles from where I grew up (roughly speaking), less than two blocks from my in-laws' house, about six blocks from Buffett's grocery store, and a six- or seven-minute drive from the office building where I had worked for 64 years. Next, we'll introduce another Omaha native, Stan Lipsey. In 1968, Stan sold the Omaha Sun (a weekly newspaper) to Berkshire Hathaway, and ten years later, at my invitation, he moved to Buffalo. At that time, the Buffalo Evening Post, owned by a Berkshire subsidiary, was locked in a fierce battle with a morning newspaper that published Buffalo's only Sunday paper. We were at a disadvantage. Stan eventually built our new Sunday edition newspaper, and in the years that followed, our once heavily loss-making newspaper earned over 100% annual (pre-tax) return on our $33 million investment. That money was a significant source of income for Berkshire in the early 1980s. Stan grew up living about five blocks from my house. One of his neighbors was Walter Scott Jr. You may recall that Walter brought MidAmerican Energy to Berkshire Hathaway in 1999. He was a key figure on Berkshire's board of directors until his death in 2021, and also a close friend of mine. For decades, Walter was a philanthropic leader in Nebraska, leaving his mark on Omaha and throughout the state. Walter attended Benson High School, the same school I had originally planned to attend—until 1942, when my father unexpectedly defeated a four-term congressman to become Congressman. Life is full of surprises.

Wait, there's more. In 1959, Don Keough and his young family lived in a house across the street from mine, about 100 yards from where the Munger family had once lived. At the time, Don was a coffee salesman, but he was destined to become president of Coca-Cola and a loyal director of Berkshire Hathaway. When I met Tang, he earned $12,000 a year. He and his wife, Mickey, were raising five children, all of whom attended Catholic schools (which required tuition). Our two families quickly became good friends. Don came from a farm in northwestern Iowa and graduated from Creighton University in Omaha. Soon after, he married Mickey, a local Omaha girl. After joining Coca-Cola, Don became a globally renowned legend. In 1985, during Donald Trump's tenure as president of Coca-Cola, the company launched the ill-fated New Coke. Trump delivered a famous speech apologizing to the public and reverting to the "old" Coke. He changed his mind because he explained that Coca-Cola mail addressed to "super idiots" always ended up directly on his desk. His "retraction" speech is considered a classic and can be viewed on YouTube. He readily admitted that, in fact, Coca-Cola belonged to the public, not the company. Afterward, Coca-Cola sales soared. You can watch Don's fascinating interviews at CharlieRose.com. (Tom Murphy and Kay Graham also contributed several excellent interviews.) Like Charlie Munger, Don has always maintained the qualities of a Midwestern boy: warm, friendly, and American at heart. Finally, Ajit Jain, who was born and raised in India, and our future Canadian CEO, Greg Abel, both lived in Omaha for a few years in the late 20th century. In fact, Greg lived on Farnam Street a few blocks from my home in the 1990s, although we never met at the time. Is there some magical ingredient in the water of Omaha? I spent several years of my adolescence in Washington, D.C. (where my father was a congressman), and in 1954, I found what I thought would be a long-term, stable job in Manhattan. There, Ben Graham and Jerry Newman treated me well, and I made many lifelong friends. New York had a unique advantage—and it still does. However, just a year and a half later, in 1956, I returned to Omaha and never left again. Later, my three children and several grandchildren grew up in Omaha. My children attended public schools throughout their lives (graduating from the same high school as my father (class of 1921), my first wife Susie (class of 1950), and Charlie, Stan Lipsey, Irving, and Ron Bloomkin (key figures in the growth of Nebraska Furniture City), and Jack Linwalt (class of 1923), who founded National Insurance Company and sold it to Berkshire Hathaway in 1967, which became the foundation of our vast property insurance business). Our country has many excellent companies, schools, and medical institutions, each with its own strengths and a wealth of talent. But I feel incredibly fortunate to have made many lifelong friends, met my two wives, received a good education in public schools, met many interesting and friendly adults in Omaha from a young age, and made a diverse group of friends in the Nebraska National Guard. In short, Nebraska has always been my home. Looking back, I think both Berkshire Hathaway and I thrived because we settled in Omaha. If I had lived anywhere else, things wouldn't have been nearly as good. The American Midwest is a great place to be born, raise a family, and start a business. Ironically, I was born incredibly lucky. Now let me talk about my advanced age. My genes don't seem to be of much help—the oldest person in my family (of course, the further back in the family records go, the more ambiguous they become) was 92 before I was born. But I've met many wise, kind, and dedicated doctors in Omaha, from Dr. Halley Hotz to the present day. My life has been saved at least three times, each time by a doctor who lives nearby. (However, I no longer collect fingerprints from nurses. At 95, many quirks can be forgiven, but everything has its limits.) Those who live to old age need a lot of luck, having to avoid various misfortunes every day, such as banana peels, natural disasters, drunk driving or distracted driving, lightning strikes, and so on. But fortune is fickle, and—no other word could better describe it—extremely unfair. In many cases, our leaders and the wealthy have received far more good fortune than they deserve—and they are often unwilling to admit it. Some heirs to dynasties are born with lifelong economic independence, while others suffer hardship in their early years, or worse, are afflicted with serious illness and lose everything I take for granted. In many densely populated parts of the world, my life is likely quite miserable, and my sisters are likely even more so. I was born in 1930, am healthy, of average intelligence, a white male, in the United States. Wow! Thank goodness for Lady Luck. My sisters are just as intelligent as me and have better personalities, but their lives have been very different. Lady Luck has been on my side for most of my life, but she has more important things to do than take care of people in their nineties. Luck has its limits. On the contrary, as I get older, Father Time seems to become increasingly interested in me. And he never loses; to him, everyone is eventually recorded as a "victor." When your balance, eyesight, hearing, and memory all decline steadily, you know that Father Time has quietly approached. I age relatively late—the timing of aging varies from person to person—but once aging occurs, it cannot be denied. To my surprise, I'm feeling pretty good overall. Although I'm slow and reading is becoming increasingly difficult, I go to the office five days a week and work with a great group of people. Occasionally, I get some useful ideas, or someone offers a collaboration that we might not otherwise have received. Given Berkshire's size and market conditions, good ideas, while not numerous, are not nonexistent. However, my unexpected longevity has inevitably had a significant impact on my family and the achievement of my philanthropic goals. Let's explore them together. What will happen next? My children are all past the normal retirement age, 72, 70, and 67 respectively. It would be a mistake to think that they—now in the prime of their lives—will be as fortunate as I am to delay aging. To increase their chances of properly managing almost my entire estate before a successor takes over, I need to accelerate the pace of donations to their respective foundations. My children are now in the prime of their experience and wisdom, but have not yet entered old age. This "honeymoon period" will not last forever. Fortunately, adjusting the strategy isn't difficult. However, there's one more thing to consider: I want to retain a significant number of Class A shares until Berkshire's shareholders have the same confidence in Greg as Charlie and I do. That confidence should be established quickly. My children and the Berkshire board are 100% supportive of Greg. My three children now possess the maturity, wisdom, energy, and intuition required to manage a vast fortune. Moreover, their continued existence after my passing gives them an advantage: they can formulate forward-looking or reactive policies, if necessary, to address federal tax policies or other developments affecting philanthropy. They may need to adapt to significant changes in the world around them. The record of posthumous rule is not honorable, and I have never considered it. Fortunately, all three children inherited dominant genes from their mother. Over time, I have become a better role model for their thinking and behavior. However, I can never fully replicate their mother's excellent qualities. My children have three potential trustees in case I pass away prematurely or become incapacitated. These three potential trustees are not ranked and are not affiliated with any particular child. They are all of high moral character, well-informed, and have no conflict of interest with each other. I assured the children that they didn't need to create miracles, nor should they be afraid of failure or disappointment. These are inevitable, and I've experienced them myself. They simply need to build upon the achievements typically made in government activities and/or private philanthropy, while also recognizing the inherent limitations of these wealth redistribution methods. In my early years, I conceived various grand philanthropic plans. Despite my strong will, none of these plans ultimately came to fruition. Over the years, I have also witnessed politicians' ill-considered wealth transfers, family succession choices, and some incompetent or eccentric philanthropists. As long as my children fulfill their responsibilities, they can be assured that their mother and I will be satisfied. They have excellent intuition, and each of them has accumulated years of experience, initially handling small amounts that have gradually increased to over $500 million annually. The three of them all enjoy working long hours to help others, just in different ways. My accelerated pace of donations to my children's foundation does not represent any change in my view of Berkshire Hathaway's future. Greg Abel has far exceeded my initial high expectations of him, when I thought he should be Berkshire's next CEO. He knows many of our businesses and employees far better than I do, and he is an exceptional learner, quickly grasping issues that even many CEOs haven't considered. Whether you think of a CEO, management consultant, academic, or government official—whatever field you're in—I can't think of anyone better suited to manage our savings than Greg. For example, Greg's understanding of the potential gains and risks of our property insurance business far surpasses that of many senior property insurance executives. I hope he lives a long and healthy life for several more decades. With good fortune, Berkshire should only need five or six CEOs in the next century. The company should especially avoid those who aim to retire at 65, flaunt their wealth, or build a family dynasty. An unpleasant reality is that sometimes, excellent and loyal CEOs of parent or subsidiary companies suffer from dementia, Alzheimer's disease, or other debilitating long-term illnesses. Charlie and I have encountered this problem many times, but failed to take action. Such negligence could lead to disastrous consequences. Boards must be vigilant about this possibility at the CEO level, and CEOs must be vigilant about this possibility at the subsidiary level. Easier said than done; I can cite examples of large companies in the past. My only advice is: directors should be vigilant and speak out. In my lifetime, reformers have attempted to humiliate people by demanding disclosure of CEO compensation compared to that of ordinary employees. Mandates have rapidly ballooned from 20 pages or less to over 100 pages. However, these good intentions backfired. Based on my observation, Company A's CEO turned his attention to competitor Company B and subtly hinted to the board that he deserved higher compensation. Of course, he also increased directors' salaries and was exceptionally cautious in selecting members of the compensation committee. The new regulations didn't provoke moderation, but rather jealousy. This upward trend in compensation intensified and eventually spiraled out of control. The wealthy CEOs—after all, they are human—often felt uneasy that the wealth of other CEOs was growing. Envy and greed were ever-present companions. And which advisor has ever suggested a significant reduction in CEO compensation or board member pay? Overall, the outlook for Berkshire's businesses is slightly better than average, largely thanks to a few large, unrelated, high-quality companies. However, in ten or twenty years, many companies will outperform Berkshire; our scale advantage will ultimately become a disadvantage. Of all the businesses I know, Berkshire Hathaway is the least likely to suffer a catastrophic disaster. Moreover, Berkshire's management and board are more focused on shareholder interests than almost any other company I'm familiar with (and have worked with many companies). Finally, Berkshire's management style will always ensure its existence remains a valuable asset to America and avoids any behavior that could reduce it to a beggar's market. Over time, our management should accumulate considerable wealth—they bear significant responsibilities—but they do not pursue family wealth or flaunt it. Our stock price fluctuates wildly, occasionally dropping by around 50%, a situation that has occurred three times in the 60 years under the current management. But don't be discouraged; the U.S. economy will eventually recover, and Berkshire's stock price will rebound accordingly. Perhaps it's a bit boastful, but I'm happy to say that I feel much better about the second half of my life than the first. My advice is: don't blame yourself for past mistakes—at least learn something from them and move on. It's never too late to mend your ways. Find suitable role models and learn from them. You can start with Tom Murphy; he's the best. Remember Alfred Nobel, who later won the Nobel Prize? It's said that when his brother died, the newspaper mistakenly printed his own obituary. He was shocked upon reading it and realized he should change his behavior. Don't expect the newsroom to make mistakes: decide what you want to write in your obituary, then live well, live a life worthy of it. Greatness does not stem from accumulating vast wealth, gaining immense fame, or wielding governmental power. When you help others in any way, you help the world. Kindness costs nothing, yet it is priceless. Whether you are religious or not, the Golden Rule is an excellent guide to character. I'm writing this because I've made countless mistakes and been poorly thought out, but I've also been fortunate to learn from some wonderful friends how to better conduct myself (of course, I'm far from perfect). Remember, janitors and CEOs are just ordinary people. Happy Thanksgiving to everyone who reads this. Yes, even the jerks; it's never too late to change. Remember to thank America for creating as many opportunities as possible for you. But it can be inevitably capricious and sometimes even greedy in distributing its rewards. Choose your idols carefully, and then emulate them. You can never be perfect, but you can always do better.