P. G. Wodehouse Quotes
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It was one of the dullest speeches I ever heard. The Agee woman told us for three quarters of an hour how she came to write her beastly book, when a simple apology was all that was required.
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As is so often the case with butlers, there was a good deal of Beach. Julius Caesar, who liked to have men about him who were fat, would have taken to him at once. He was a man who had made two chins grow where only one had been before, and his waistcoat swelled like the sail of a racing yacht.
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Love has had a lot of press-agenting from the oldest times; but there are higher, nobler things than love.
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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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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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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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We do not tell old friends beneath our roof-tree that they are an offence to the eyesight.
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'And, anyway, no matter how much you may behave like the deaf adder of Scripture which, as you are doubtless aware, the more one piped, the less it danced, or words to that effect, I shall carry on as planned. '
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‘Are you sure?’ I said that sure was just what I wasn’t anything but.
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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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It has been well said that an author who expects results from a first novel is in a position similar to that of a man who drops a rose petal down the Grand Canyon of Arizona and listens for the echo.
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Before my eyes he wilted like a wet sock.
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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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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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I shuddered from stem to stern, as stout barks do when buffeted by the waves.
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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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'Elementary, my dear Watson, elementary,' murmured Psmith. (Earlier usage of the precise words 'Elementary, my dear Watson' has been found in the works of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.)
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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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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!’
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Aunt Agatha, who eats broken bottles and wears barbed wire next to the skin.
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I started violently, as if some unseen hand had goosed me.
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Why don't you get a haircut? You look like a chrysanthemum.