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Woman is the unfathomable, incalculable mystery, the problem we men can never hope to solve.
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
Mystery
Hope
Woman
Problem
Never
Men
Incalculable
Unfathomable
Solve
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the supply of the milk of human kindness was short by several gallons
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What ho! I said. What ho! said Motty. What ho! What ho! What ho! What ho! What ho! After that it seemed rather difficult to go on with the conversation.
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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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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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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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Just another proof, of course, of what I often say - it takes all sorts to make a world.
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I suppose he must have taken about a nine or something in hats. Shows what a rotten thing it is to let your brain develop too much.
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There is no surer foundation for a beautiful friendship than a mutual taste in literature.
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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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I turned on the pillow with a little moan, and at this juncture Jeeves entered with the vital oolong. I clutched at it like a drowning man at a straw hat.
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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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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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I should think it extremely improbable that anyone ever wrote for money. Naturally, when he has written something, he wants to get as much for it as he can, but that is a very different thing from writing for money.
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It isn't often that Aunt Dahlia lets her angry passions rise, but when she does, strong men climb trees and pull them up after them.
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There is only one cure for gray hair. It was invented by a Frenchman. It is called the guillotine.
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Slice him where you like, a hellhound is always a hellhound.
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He looks much more like a lobster than most lobsters do.
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Well, you know, there are limits to the sacred claims of friendship.
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She's one of those soppy girls, riddled from head to foot with whimsy. She holds the view that the stars are God's daisy chain, that rabbits are gnomes in attendance on the Fairy Queen, and that every time a fairy blows its wee nose a baby is born, which, as we know, is not the case. She's a drooper.
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Flowers are happy things.
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