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6d919d3
|
I mean, if you're asking a fellow to come out of a room so that you can dismember him with a carving knife, it's absurd to tack a 'sir' on to every sentence. The two things don't go together.
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thank-you-jeeves
p-g-wodehouse
|
P.G. Wodehouse |
|
5c9905e
|
The fact that pigs were abroad in the night seemed to bring home to me the perilous nature of my enterprise.
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|
right-ho-jeeves
p-g-wodehouse
|
P.G. Wodehouse |
|
87e4e5b
|
More and more, it was beginning to be borne in upon me what a particularly difficult chap Gussie was to help. He seemed to so marked an extent to lack snap and finish. With infinite toil, you manoeuvred him into a position where all he had to do was charge ahead, and he didn't charge ahead, but went off sideways, missing the objective completely.
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|
right-ho-jeeves
p-g-wodehouse
|
P.G. Wodehouse |
|
768f989
|
We Woosters can bite the bullet.
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|
p-g-wodehouse
|
P.G. Wodehouse |
|
afe6512
|
I'm a quiet, peaceful sort of bloke who has lived all his life in London, and I can't stand the pace these swift sportsmen from the rural districts set. What I mean to say is, I'm all for rational enjoyment and so forth, but I think a chappie makes himself conspicuous when he throws soft-boiled eggs at the electric fan.
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|
p-g-wodehouse
|
P.G. Wodehouse |
|
9afbfa3
|
"There are certain moments in life when words are not needed. I looked at Biffy, Biffy looked at me. A perfect understanding linked our two souls. "?" "!"
|
|
jeeves
p-g-wodehouse
|
P.G. Wodehouse |
|
3d2d317
|
The gods are business-like. They sell; they do not give. And for what they sell they demand a heavy price. We may buy life of them in many ways; with our honour, our health, our independence, our happiness; with our brains or with our hands. But somehow or other, in whatever currency we may choose to pay it, the price must be paid.
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|
p-g-wodehouse
wodehouse
|
P.G. Wodehouse |
|
01e0b3e
|
Humour, if one looks into it, is principally a matter of retrospect.
|
|
humour
theprinceandbetty
p-g-wodehouse
wodehouse
|
P.G. Wodehouse |
|
377651d
|
He lost his appetite for reading. He was afraid of being overwhelmed again. In mystery novels people died like dolls being discarded; in science fiction enormities of space and time conspired to crush the humans ; and even in P.G. Wodehouse he felt a hollowness, a turning away from reality that was implicitly bitter, and became explicit in the comic figures of futile parsons.
|
|
reading
p-g-wodehouse
parsons
science-fiction
|
John Updike |