His was a life which lacked, perhaps, the sublimer emotions which raised Man to the level of the gods, but it was undeniably an extremely happy one. He never experienced the thrill of ambition fulfilled, but, on the other hand, he never knew the agony of ambition frustrated. His name, when he died, would not live for ever in England's annals; he was spared the pain of worrying about this by the fact that he had no desire to live for ever in England's annals. He was possibly as nearly contented a human being can be in this century of alarms and excursions.

'Work, the what's-its-name of the thingummy and the thing-um-a-bob of the what d'you-call-it.'

The village of Market Blandings is one of those sleepy hamlets which modern progress has failed to touch... The church is Norman, and the intelligence of the m…

'Elementary, my dear Watson, elementary,' murmured Psmith. (No earlier usage of the precise words 'Elementary, my dear Watson' has yet been found, even in the …

Happy people die whole, they are all dissolved in a moment, they have had what they wanted

When you come right down to it, the secret of having it all is loving it all.

My wants are many, and, if told, Would muster many a score; And were each wish a mint of gold, I still would want for more.