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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.
P. G. Wodehouse -
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.
P. G. Wodehouse
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Before my eyes he wilted like a wet sock.
P. G. Wodehouse -
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.
P. G. Wodehouse -
'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.
P. G. Wodehouse -
I shuddered from stem to stern, as stout barks do when buffeted by the waves.
P. G. Wodehouse -
I was expecting Pop Bassett to give an impersonation of a bomb falling on an ammunition dump, but he didn’t. Instead, he continued to exhibit that sort of chilly stiffness which you see in magistrates when they’re fining people five quid for boyish peccadilloes.
P. G. Wodehouse -
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.
P. G. Wodehouse
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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.
P. G. Wodehouse -
She’s all for not letting the sun go down without having started something calculated to stagger humanity.
P. G. Wodehouse -
He had never acted in his life, and couldn't play the pin in Pinafore.
P. G. Wodehouse -
We exchanged a meaning glance. Or, rather, two meaning glances, I giving him one and he giving me the other.
P. G. Wodehouse -
‘And shove him into a dungeon with dripping walls and see to it that he is well gnawed by rats.’
P. G. Wodehouse -
If the prophet Job were to walk into the room at this moment, I could sit swapping hard-luck stories with him till bedtime.'
P. G. Wodehouse
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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.
P. G. Wodehouse -
'Work, the what's-its-name of the thingummy and the thing-um-a-bob of the what d'you-call-it.'
P. G. Wodehouse -
His eyes were rolling in their sockets, and his face had taken on the colour and expression of a devout tomato. I could see he loved like a thousand bricks.
P. G. Wodehouse -
In your walks about London you will sometimes see bent, haggard figures that look as if they had recently been caught in some powerful machinery. They are those fellows who got mixed up with Catsmeat when he was meaning well.
P. G. Wodehouse -
‘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.’
P. G. Wodehouse -
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.
P. G. Wodehouse
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Hugo?’ ‘Millicent?’ ‘Is that you?’ ‘Yes. Is that you?’ ‘Yes.’ Anything in the nature of misunderstanding was cleared away. It was both of them.
P. G. Wodehouse -
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.
P. G. Wodehouse -
He vanished abruptly, like an eel going into mud.
P. G. Wodehouse -
I always strive, when I can, to spread sweetness and light. There have been several complaints about it.
P. G. Wodehouse