P. G. Wodehouse Quotes
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She gave me another of those long keen looks, and I could see that she was again asking herself if her favourite nephew wasn't steeped to the tonsils in the juice of the grape.
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He groaned slightly and winced, like Prometheus watching his vulture dropping in for lunch.
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A young man with dark circles under his eyes was propping himself up against a penny-in-the-slot machine. An undertaker, passing at that moment, would have looked at this young man sharply, scenting business. So would a buzzard.
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Ice formed on the butler's upper slopes.
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We do not tell old friends beneath our roof-tree that they are an offence to the eyesight.
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'Didn't Frankenstein get married?'Did he?' said Eggy. 'I don't know. I never met him. Harrow man, I expect.'
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On the cue 'five aunts' I had given at the knees a trifle, for the thought of being confronted with such a solid gaggle of aunts, even if those of another, was an unnerving one. Reminding myself that in this life it is not aunts that matter, but the courage that one brings to them, I pulled myself together.
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My Aunt Dahlia has a carrying voice... If all other sources of income failed, she could make a good living calling the cattle home across the Sands of Dee.
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A roll and butter and a small coffee seemed the only things on the list that hadn't been specially prepared by the nastier-minded members of the Borgia family for people they had a particular grudge against, so I chose them.
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It was one of those cold, clammy, accusing sort of eyes-the kind that makes you reach up to see if your tie is straight: and he looked at me as I were some sort of unnecessary product which Cuthbert the Cat had brought in after a ramble among the local ash-cans.
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'Jeeves,' I said, and I am free to admit that in my emotion I bleated like a lamb drawing itself to the attention of the parent sheep, 'what the dickens is all this?'
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‘Are you sure?’ I said that sure was just what I wasn’t anything but.
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I don’t suppose she would recognize a deep, beautiful thought if you handed it to her on a skewer with tartare sauce.
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Aunt Agatha, who eats broken bottles and wears barbed wire next to the skin.
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Directing an austere look at Tubby’s receding back, she spoke in a cold crisp voice which sounded in the drowsy stillness like ice tinkling in a pitcher.
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Success comes to a writer as a rule, so gradually that it is always something of a shock to him to look back and realize the heights to which he has climbed.
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‘Don't you like this hat?‘‘No, sir.‘‘Well, I do,‘ I replied rather cleverly, and went out with it tilted just that merest shade over the left eye which makes all the difference.
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Before my eyes he wilted like a wet sock.
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I shuddered from stem to stern, as stout barks do when buffeted by the waves.
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Like so many substantial citizens of America, he had married young and kept on marrying, springing from blonde to blonde like the chamois of the Alps leaping from crag to crag.
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This done, he felt a little-not much, but a little-better. Before, he would have gladly murdered Beach and James and danced on their graves. Now, he would have been satisfied with straight murder.
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He was a tubby little chap who looked as if he had been poured into his clothes and had forgotten to say 'when!'
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'You can't be a successful Dictator and design women's underclothing.'No, sir.'One or the other. Not both.'Precisely, sir.'
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He then gave a hideous laugh and added that, if anybody was interested in his plans, he was going to join the Foreign Legion, that cohort of the damned in which broken men may toil and die and dying, forget. ‘Beau Widgeon?’ said the Egg, impressed. ‘What ho!’