It is not the being paid money in advance that jars the sensitive artist: it is the having to work.
Hugo?’ ‘Millicent?’ ‘Is that you?’ ‘Yes. Is that you?’ ‘Yes.’ Anything in the nature of misunderstanding was cleared away. It was both of them.
You would be miserable if you had to go through life with a human doormat with 'Welcome' written on him. You want some one made of sterner stuff. You want, as it were, a sparring-partner, some one with whom you can quarrel happily with the certain knowledge that he will not curl up in a ball for you to kick, but will be there with the return wallop.
We do not tell old friends beneath our roof-tree that they are an offence to the eyesight.
We Woosters freeze like the dickens when we seek sympathy and meet with cold reserve. "Nothing further Jeeves", I said with quiet dignity.
I suppose he must have taken about a nine or something in hats. Shows what a rotten thing it is to let your brain develop too much.
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!
Birds, except when broiled and in the society of a cold bottle, bored him stiff.
Comedy is the kindly contemplation of the incongruous.
Judges, as a class, display, in the matter of arranging alimony, that reckless generosity which is found only in men who are giving away someone else's cash.
The trouble with cats is that they've got no tact.
Whenever I have that sad, depressed feeling, I go out and kill a policeman.
I shuddered from stem to stern, as stout barks do when buffeted by the waves.
Slice him where you like, a hellhound is always a hellhound.
I wouldn't have a face like that,' proceeded the child, with a good deal of earnestness, 'not if you gave me a million dollars.' He thought for a moment, then corrected himself. 'Two million dollars!' he added.
No novelists any good except me. Sovietski -- yah! Nastikoff -- bah! I spit me of zem all. No novelists anywhere any good except me. P. G. Wodehouse and Tolstoi not bad. Not good, but not bad. No novelists any good except me.
I shoved on a dressing-gown, and flew downstairs like a mighty, rushing wind.
A man who has spent most of his adult life trying out a series of patent medicines is always an optimist.
His whole aspect was that of a man who has unexpectedly been struck by lightning.
If he had a mind, there was something on it.
When it comes to letting the world in on the secrets of his heart, he has about as much shrinking reticence as a steam calliope.
I started violently, as if some unseen hand had goosed me.
Golf is the Great Mystery.
New York is a small place when it comes to the part of it that wakes up just as the rest is going to bed.
It is not mere technical skill that makes a man a golfer, it is the golfing soul.
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