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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.
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
Doe
Pull
Men
Trees
Dahlia
Rise
Dahlias
Angry
Aunt
Tree
Lets
Passion
Climb
Often
Climbs
Strong
Passions
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As a dancer, I out-Fred the nimblest Astaire.
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He had the look of one who had drunk the cup of life and found a dead beetle at the bottom.
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I am told by those who know that there are six varieties of hangover-the Broken Compass, the Sewing Machine, the Comet, the Atomic, the Cement Mixer and the Gremlin Boogie, and his manner suggested that he had got them all.
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The only thing that prevented a father's love from faltering was the fact that there was in his possession a photograph of himself at the same early age, in which he, too, looked like a homicidal fried egg.
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[I'm] as broke as the ten commandments.
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There was a sound in the background like a distant sheep coughing gently on a mountainside. Jeeves sailing into action.
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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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I may as well tell you, here and now, that if you are going about the place thinking things pretty, you will never make a modern poet. Be poignant, man, be poignant!
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There are moments, Jeeves, when one asks oneself, 'Do trousers matter?' The mood will pass, sir.
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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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Well, you certainly are the most wonderfully woolly baa-lamb that ever stepped.
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Well, there it is. That's Jeeves. Where others merely smite the brow and clutch the hair, he acts. Napoleon was the same.
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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 always strive, when I can, to spread sweetness and light. There have been several complaints about it.
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What is Love compared with holing out before your opponent?
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A man's subconscious self is not the ideal companion. It lurks for the greater part of his life in some dark den of its own, hidden away, and emerges only to taunt and deride and increase the misery of a miserable hour.
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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 was one of those days you sometimes get latish in the autumn when the sun beams, the birds toot, and there is a bracing tang in the air that sends the blood beetling briskly through the veins.
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That is life. Just one long succession of misunderstandings and rash acts and what not. Absolutely.
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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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