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He enjoys that perfect peace, that peace beyond all understanding, which comes to its maximum only to the man who has given up golf.
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
Beyond
Understanding
Perfect
Peace
Enjoy
Comes
Enjoys
Given
Maximum
Men
Golf
More quotes by P. G. Wodehouse
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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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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Warm-hearted! I should think he has to wear asbestos vests!
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Well, you know, there are limits to the sacred claims of friendship.
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It was a nasty look. It made me feel as if I were something the dog had brought in and intended to bury later on, when he had time.
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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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He looks much more like a lobster than most lobsters do.
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I shoved on a dressing-gown, and flew downstairs like a mighty, rushing wind.
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I don’t know if you have had the same experience, but the snag I always come up against when I’m telling a story is this dashed difficult problem of where to begin it.
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If men's minds were like dominoes, surely his would be the double blank.
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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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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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I shuddered from stem to stern, as stout barks do when buffeted by the waves.
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The least thing upset him on the links. He missed short putts because of the uproar of the butterflies in the adjoining meadows.
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I pressed down the mental accelerator. The old lemon throbbed fiercely. I got an idea.
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I can detach myself from the world. If there is a better world to detach oneself from than the one functioning at the moment I have yet to hear of it.
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He felt like a man who, chasing rainbows, has had one of them suddenly turn and bite him in the leg.
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Memories are like mulligatawny soup in a cheap restaurant. It is wiser not to stir them.
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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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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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