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If he had a mind, there was something on it.
P. G. Wodehouse
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P. G. Wodehouse
Age: 93 †
Born: 1881
Born: January 1
Died: 1975
Died: January 1
Humorist
Librettist
Lyricist
Novelist
Playwright
Screenwriter
Songwriter
Writer
Guildford
Surrey
UK
Pelham Grenville Wodehouse
Sir Pelham Grenville Wodehouse
P.G. Wodehouse
Mind
Something
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I shoved on a dressing-gown, and flew downstairs like a mighty, rushing wind.
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Memories are like mulligatawny soup in a cheap restaurant. It is wiser not to stir them.
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In his normal state he would not strike a lamb. I’ve known him to do it’ ‘Do what?’ ‘Not strike lambs
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My motto is 'Love and let love' - with the one stipulation that people who love in glass-houses should breathe on the windows.
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It is the bungled crime that brings remorse.
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I pressed down the mental accelerator. The old lemon throbbed fiercely. I got an idea.
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Some minds are like soup in a poor restaurant—better left unstirred.
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Comedy is the kindly contemplation of the incongruous.
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...there occurred to me the simple epitaph which, when I am no more, I intend to have inscribed on my tombstone. It was this: He was a man who acted from the best motives. There is one born every minute.
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She could not have gazed at him with a more rapturous intensity if she had been a small child and he a saucer of ice cream.
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I love writing. I never feel really comfortable unless I am either actually writing or have a story going. I could not stop writing.
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The only way of really finding out a man's true character is to play golf with him. In no other walk of life does the cloven hoof so quickly display itself.
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His eyes were rolling in their sockets, and his face had taken on the colour and expression of a devout tomato. I could see he loved like a thousand bricks.
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She looked away. Her attitude seemed to suggest that she had finished with him, and would be obliged if somebody would come and sweep him up.
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A girl who bonnets a policeman with an ashcan full of bottles is obviously good wife-and-mother timber.
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Golf, like the measles, should be caught young, for, if postponed to riper years, the results may be serious.
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The exquisite code of politeness of the Woosters prevented me clipping her one on the ear-hole, but I would have given a shilling to be able to do it. There seemed to me something deliberately fat-headed in the way she persisted in missing the gist.
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There's too much of that where-every-prospect-pleases-and-only-man-is-vile stuff buzzing around for my taste.
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Mike nodded. A sombre nod. The nod Napoleon might have given if somebody had met him in 1812 and said, So, you're back from Moscow, eh?
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