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They were real golfers, for real golf is a thing of the spirit, not of mere mechanical excellence of stroke.
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
Excellence
Golf
Mere
Spirit
Real
Golfers
Thing
Stroke
Mechanical
Strokes
More quotes by P. G. Wodehouse
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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That is life. Just one long succession of misunderstandings and rash acts and what not. Absolutely.
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If men's minds were like dominoes, surely his would be the double blank.
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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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Mike nodded. A sombre nod. The nod Napoleon might have given if somebody had met him in 1812 and said, So, you're back from Moscow, eh?
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There's too much of that where-every-prospect-pleases-and-only-man-is-vile stuff buzzing around for my taste.
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When you have been just told that the girl you love is definitely betrothed to another, you begin to understand how Anarchists must feel when the bomb goes off too soon.
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...it has been well said that it is precisely these moments when we are feeling that ours is the world and everything that's in it that Fate selects for sneaking up on us with the rock in the stocking.
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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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The storm is over, there is sunlight in my heart. I have a glass of wine and sit thinking of what has passed.
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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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Love is a delicate plant that needs constant tending and nurturing, and this cannot be done by snorting at the adored object like a gas explosion and calling her friends lice.
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As we grow older and realize more clearly the limitations of human happiness, we come to see that the only real and abiding pleasure in life is to give pleasure to other people.
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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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Now, I'm a mixer. I can't help it. It's my nature. I like men. I like the taste of their boots, the smell of their legs, and the sound of their voices. It may be weak of me, but a man has only to speak to me, and a sort of thrill goes down my spine and sets my tail wagging.
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There are moments, Jeeves, when one asks oneself, 'Do trousers matter?' The mood will pass, sir.
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It's curious how, when you're in love, you yearn to go about doing acts of kindness to everybody.
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As Shakespeare says, if you're going to do a thing you might as well pop right at it and get it over.
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Comedy is the kindly contemplation of the incongruous.
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[He] saw that a peculiar expression had come into his nephew's face an expression a little like that of a young hindu fakir who having settled himself on his first bed of spikes is beginning to wish that he had chosen one of the easier religions.
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