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Freddie experienced the sort of abysmal soul-sadness which afflicts one of Tolstoy's Russian peasants when, after putting in a heavy day's work strangling his father, beating his wife, and dropping the baby into the city's reservoir, he turns to the cupboards, only to find the vodka bottle empty.

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
Soul
Empty
Dropping
Strangling
Find
City
Beating
Cupboards
Work
Baby
Russian
Tolstoy
Cities
Bottles
Reservoir
Wife
Experienced
Reservoirs
Sort
Sadness
Vodka
Abysmal
Turns
Putting
Peasants
Afflicts
Father
Heavy
Bottle
Freddie

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A melancholy-looking man, he had the appearance of one who has searched for the leak in life's gas-pipe with a lighted candle.
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It's a funny thing about looking for things. If you hunt for a needle in a haystack you don't find it. If you don't give a darn whether you ever see the needle or not it runs into you the first time you lean against the stack.
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I pressed down the mental accelerator. The old lemon throbbed fiercely. I got an idea.
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One of the drawbacks to life is that it contains moments when one is compelled to tell the truth.
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This is peculiarly an age in which each of us may, if he do but search diligently, find the literature suited to his mental powers.
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Few of them were to be trusted within reach of a trowel and a pile of bricks.
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Mr Howard Saxby, literary agent, was knitting a sock. He knitted a good deal, he would tell you if you asked him, to keep himself from smoking, adding that he also smoked a good deal to keep himself from knitting.
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I clutched at the brow. The mice in my interior had now got up an informal dance and were buck-and-winging all over the place like a bunch of Nijinskys.
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A roll and butter and a small coffee seemed the only things on the list that hadn't been specially prepared by the nastier-minded members of the Borgia family for people they had a particular grudge against, so I chose them.
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Luck is a goddess not to be coerced and forcibly wooed by those who seek her favours. From such masterful spirits she turns away. But it happens sometimes that, if we put our hand in hers with the humble trust of a little child, she will have pity on us, and not fail us in our hour of need.
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To find a man's true character, play golf with him.
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However devoutly a girl may worship the man of her choice, there always comes a time when she feels an irresistible urge to haul off and let him have it in the neck.
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I'm not absolutely certain of the facts, but I rather fancy it's Shakespeare who says that it's always just when a fellow is feeling particularly braced with things in general that Fate sneaks up behind him with the bit of lead piping.
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There are moments, Jeeves, when one asks oneself, 'Do trousers matter?' The mood will pass, sir.
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Well, you certainly are the most wonderfully woolly baa-lamb that ever stepped.
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The real objection to the great majority of cats is their insufferable air of superiority.
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I mean, imagine how some unfortunate Master Criminal would feel, on coming down to do a murder at the old Grange, if he found that not only was Sherlock Holmes putting in the weekend there, but Hercule Poirot, as well. ~ Bertram Bertie Wooster
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Slice him where you like, a hellhound is always a hellhound.
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...with each new book of mine I have always the feeling that this time I have picked a lemon in the garden of literature.
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At the age of eleven or thereabouts women acquire a poise and an ability to handle difficult situations which a man, if he is lucky, manages to achieve somewhere in the later seventies.
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