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‘Suppose your Aunt Dahlia read in the paper one morning that you were going to be shot at sunrise.’‘I couldn’t be, I’m never up so early.’
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It just showed once again that half the world doesn’t know how the other three quarters live.
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I shuddered from stem to stern, as stout barks do when buffeted by the waves.
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of a character in 'The Man Who Gave Up Smoking' who is suffering from a hangover ... the noise of the cat stamping about in the passage outside caused him exquisite discomfort.
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He was not a man who prattled readily, especially in a foreign tongue. He gave the impression that each word was excavated from his interior by some up-to-date process of mining.
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I always strive, when I can, to spread sweetness and light. There have been several complaints about it.
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He had never acted in his life, and couldn't play the pin in Pinafore.
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We exchanged a meaning glance. Or, rather, two meaning glances, I giving him one and he giving me the other.
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Has anybody ever seen a dramatic critic in the daytime? Of course not. They come out after dark, up to no good.
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He wore the unmistakable look of a man about to be present at a row between women, and only a wet cat in a strange backyard bears itself with less jauntiness than a man faced by such a prospect.
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Blizzard was of the fine old school of butlers. His appearance suggested that for fifteen years he had not let a day pass without its pint of port. He radiated port and pop-eyed dignity. He had splay feet and three chins, and when he walked his curving waistcoat preceded him like the advance guard of some royal procession.
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Attila the Hun might have broken off his engagement to her, but nobody except Attila the Hun, and he only on one of his best mornings.
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For an author Jerry Vail was rather nice-looking, most authors, as is widely known, resembling in appearance the more degraded types of fish, unless they look like birds, when they could pass as vultures and no questions asked.
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'I hate you, I hate you!' cried Madeline, a thing I didn't know anyone ever said except in the second act of a musical comedy.
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Aunt Agatha is like an elephant-not so much to look at, for in appearance she resembles more a well-bred vulture, but because she never forgets.
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‘And shove him into a dungeon with dripping walls and see to it that he is well gnawed by rats.’
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‘When I say 'mind,'’ said the blood relation, ‘I refer to the quarter-teaspoonful of brain which you might possibly find in her head if you sank an artesian well.’
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Whenever I meet Ukridge’s Aunt Julia I have the same curious illusion of having just committed some particularly unsavoury crime and-what is more-of having done it with swollen hands, enlarged feet, and trousers bagging at the knee on a morning when I had omitted to shave.
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If the prophet Job were to walk into the room at this moment, I could sit swapping hard-luck stories with him till bedtime.'
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He vanished abruptly, like an eel going into mud.
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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.
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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 majority of the natives palaeozoic.
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It was loud in spots and less loud in other spots, and it had that quality which I have noticed in all violin solos of seeming to last much longer than it actually did.
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Mere abuse is no criticism.