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When it comes to letting the world in on the secrets of his heart, he has about as much shrinking reticence as a steam calliope.
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
Steam
Secrets
Letting
Secret
Comes
Heart
Much
Reticence
World
Shrinking
More quotes by P. G. Wodehouse
It is not the being paid money in advance that jars the sensitive artist: it is the having to work.
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To say that New York came up to its advance billing would be the baldest of understatements. Being there was like being in heaven without going to all the bother and expense of dying.
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Psmith is the only thing in my literary career which was handed to me on a plate with watercress round it, thus enabling me to avoid the blood, sweat and tears inseparable from an author's life.
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It's not that I don't trust you, Dunstable, it's simply that I don't trust you.
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What is Love compared with holing out before your opponent?
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Dark hair fell in a sweep over his forehead. He looked like a man who would write vers libre, as indeed he did.
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That is life. Just one long succession of misunderstandings and rash acts and what not. Absolutely.
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Success comes to a writer as a rule, so gradually that it is always something of a shock to him to look back and realize the heights to which he has climbed.
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Slice him where you like, a hellhound is always a hellhound.
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It is fatal to let any dog know that he is funny, for he immediately loses his head and starts hamming it up.
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It is no use telling me there are bad aunts and good aunts. At the core, they are all alike. Sooner or later, out pops the cloven hoof.
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In a series of events, all of which had been a bit thick, this, in his opinion, achieved the maximum of thickness.
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No novelists any good except me. Sovietski -- yah! Nastikoff -- bah! I spit me of zem all. No novelists anywhere any good except me. P. G. Wodehouse and Tolstoi not bad. Not good, but not bad. No novelists any good except me.
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[I'm] as broke as the ten commandments.
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They were real golfers, for real golf is a thing of the spirit, not of mere mechanical excellence of stroke.
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I pity the shrimp that matches wits with you Jeeves
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She gave me another of those long keen looks, and I could see that she was again asking herself if her favourite nephew wasn't steeped to the tonsils in the juice of the grape.
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It was a confusion of ideas between him and one of the lions he was hunting in Kenya that had caused A. B. Spottsworth to make the obituary column. He thought the lion was dead, and the lion thought it wasn't.
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I know I was writing stories when I was five. I don't know what I did before that. Just loafed I suppose.
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Memories are like mulligatawny soup in a cheap restaurant. It is wiser not to stir them.
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