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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.
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
Eyes
Devout
Taken
Tomatoes
Face
Bricks
Faces
Rolling
Eye
Colour
Love
Expression
Like
Thousand
Sockets
Loved
Tomato
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One of the rummy things about Jeeves is that, unless you watch like a hawk, you very seldom see him come into a room.
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One of the drawbacks to life is that it contains moments when one is compelled to tell the truth.
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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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Routine is the death to heroism.
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While not exactly disgruntled, he was far from feeling gruntled. He spoke with a certain what-is-it in his voice, and I could see that, if not actually disgruntled, he was far from being gruntled.
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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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That is life. Just one long succession of misunderstandings and rash acts and what not. Absolutely.
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Cats, as a class, have never completely got over the snootiness caused by the fact that in ancient Egypt they were worshipped as gods. This makes them prone to set themselves up as critics and censors of the frail and erring human beings whose lot they share.
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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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As for Gussie Finknottle, many an experienced undertaker would have been deceived by his appearance and started embalming on sight.
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Unlike the male codfish which, suddenly finding itself the parent of three million five hundred thousand little codfish, cheerfully resolves to love them all, the British aristocracy is apt to look with a somewhat jaundiced eye on its younger sons.
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A roll and butter and a small coffee seemed the only things on the list that hadn't been specially prepared by the nastier-minded members of the Borgia family for people they had a particular grudge against, so I chose them.
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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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There is only one cure for gray hair. It was invented by a Frenchman. It is called the guillotine.
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He looked haggard and careworn, like a Borgia who has suddenly remembered that he has forgotten to shove cyanide in the consommé, and the dinner-gong due any moment.
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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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It is not mere technical skill that makes a man a golfer, it is the golfing soul.
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I pressed down the mental accelerator. The old lemon throbbed fiercely. I got an idea.
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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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