“Seek not each man to please, for that
is more than God bids do:
Please thou the best, and neuer care,
what wicked say thereto.”
― A sweet nosgay, or pleasant posye: Contayning a hundred and ten phylosophical flowers
is more than God bids do:
Please thou the best, and neuer care,
what wicked say thereto.”
― A sweet nosgay, or pleasant posye: Contayning a hundred and ten phylosophical flowers
“Little Things.
Little drops of water,
Little grains of sand,
Make the mighty ocean
And the pleasant land.
Thus the little minutes,
Humble though they be,
Make the mighty ages
Of eternity.”
―
Little drops of water,
Little grains of sand,
Make the mighty ocean
And the pleasant land.
Thus the little minutes,
Humble though they be,
Make the mighty ages
Of eternity.”
―
“Father is and always has been a cross between Attila the Hun and a snapping-turtle.”
― Aunts Aren't Gentlemen: (Jeeves & Wooster)
― Aunts Aren't Gentlemen: (Jeeves & Wooster)
“If you ask my Aunt Agatha she will tell you — in fact, she is quite likely to tell you even if you don’t ask her — that I am a vapid and irreflective chump. Barely sentient, was the way she once described me: and I’m not saying that in a broad, general sense she isn’t right.”
― Very Good, Jeeves!
― Very Good, Jeeves!
“I found him in the private bar having a gin and ginger ale. His face, never much to write home about, was rendered even less of a feast for the eye by a dark scowl. His spirits were plainly at their lowest ebb, as so often happens when Sundered Heart A is feeling that the odds against his clicking with Sundered Heart B cannot be quoted at better than a hundred to eight.
Of course he may have been brooding because he had just heard that a pal of his in Moscow had been liquidated that morning, or he had murdered a capitalist and couldn't think of a way of getting rid of the body, but I preferred to attribute his malaise to frustrated love, and I couldn't help feeling a pang of pity for him”
― Aunts Aren't Gentlemen
Of course he may have been brooding because he had just heard that a pal of his in Moscow had been liquidated that morning, or he had murdered a capitalist and couldn't think of a way of getting rid of the body, but I preferred to attribute his malaise to frustrated love, and I couldn't help feeling a pang of pity for him”
― Aunts Aren't Gentlemen
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David’s 2025 Year in Books
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