I turned on the pillow with a little moan, and at this juncture Jeeves entered with the vital oolong. I clutched at it like a drowning man at a straw hat.
P. G. WodehouseRead
Love is a delicate plant that needs constant tending and nurturing, and this cannot be done by snorting at the adored object like a gas explosion and calling her friends lice.
Interpretation
Love requires care and attention, not disdain or mockery.
In this quote, P. G. Wodehouse emphasizes that love is fragile and needs to be nurtured with kindness and dedication. Treating someone you love with contempt or disrespect can damage the relationship, highlighting the importance of fostering love with genuine care rather than ridicule.
In practice
During a wedding ceremony to emphasize the importance of nurturing love.
I turned on the pillow with a little moan, and at this juncture Jeeves entered with the vital oolong. I clutched at it like a drowning man at a straw hat.
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.
She fitted into my biggest arm-chair as if it had been built round her by someone who knew they were wearing arm-chairs tight about the hips that season
It was a nasty look. It made me feel as if I were something the dog had brought in and intended to bury later on, when he had time.
Memories are like mulligatawny soup in a cheap restaurant. It is wiser not to stir them.
It was a confusion of ideas between him and one of the lions he was hunting in Kenya that had caused A. B. Spottsworth to make the obituary column. He thought the lion was dead, and the lion thought it wasn't.
Goodbye, Papa, you saved me. You taught me to read. No one can play like you. I'll never drink champagne. No one can play like you." -Liesel
Anytime you try to be a loving person, you're doing your part to save the world.
Boys and girls should be taught respect for each other's liberty... and that jealousy and possessiveness kill love.
Love is a lot like a backache. It doesn't show up on x-rays, but you know it's there.
I love you, Dominique. As selfishly as the fact that I exist. As selfishly as my lungs breathe air. I breathe for my own necessity, for the fuel of my body, for my survival. I've given you, not my sacrifice or my pity, but my ego and my naked need. This is the only way I can want you to love me.
The brooks flow to their lover, the sea, and the flowers smile at the object of their passion, the light. The mist rolls down to its beloved, the valley. And I? In me is what brooks do not know, what flowers do not hear, what the mist does not apprehend. You see me alone in my love, solitary in my yearning.
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