-
I wouldn't have said off-hand that I had a subconscious mind, but I suppose I must without knowing it, and no doubt it was there, sweating away diligently at the old stand, all the while the corporeal Wooster was getting his eight hours.
P. G. Wodehouse -
There are some things a chappie's mind absolutely refuses to picture, and Aunt Julia singing 'Rumpty-tiddley-umpty-ay' is one of them.
P. G. Wodehouse
-
I agreed the situation was sticky. Indeed, offhand it was difficult to see how it could have been more glutinous.
P. G. Wodehouse -
I laughed derisively. "For goodness' sake, don't start gargling now. This is serious." "I was laughing." "Oh, were you? Well, I'm glad to see you taking it in this merry spirit." "Derisively," I explained.
P. G. Wodehouse -
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.
P. G. Wodehouse -
Mike nodded. A sombre nod. The nod Napoleon might have given if somebody had met him in 1812 and said, "So, you're back from Moscow, eh?
P. G. Wodehouse -
‘As a sleuth you are poor. You couldn’t detect a bass-drum in a telephone-booth.’
P. G. Wodehouse -
I know I was writing stories when I was five. I don't know what I did before that. Just loafed I suppose.
P. G. Wodehouse
-
And a moment later there was a sound like a mighty rushing wind, and the relative had crossed the threshold at fifty m.p.h. under her own steam.
P. G. Wodehouse -
He committed mayhem upon his person. He did everything to him that a man can do who is hampered with boxing gloves.
P. G. Wodehouse -
'She loves this newt-nuzzling blister.'
P. G. Wodehouse -
I remember when I was a kid at school having to learn a poem of sorts about a fellow named Pig-something-a sculptor he would have been, no doubt-who made a statue of a girl, and what should happen one morning but that the bally thing suddenly came to life. A pretty nasty shock for the chap, of course.
P. G. Wodehouse -
'I want to know what the devil you mean by keeping coming into my private apartment, taking up space which I require for other purposes and interrupting me when I am chatting with my personal friends. Really one gets about as much privacy in this house as a strip-tease dancer.'
P. G. Wodehouse -
My Aunt Agatha, the curse of the Home Counties and a menace to one and all.
P. G. Wodehouse
-
Then he rose and began to pace the room in an overwrought sort of way, like a zoo lion who has heard the dinner-gong go and is hoping the keeper won't forget him in the general distribution.
P. G. Wodehouse -
She had a beaky nose, tight thin lips, and her eye could have been used for splitting logs in the teak forests of Borneo.
P. G. Wodehouse -
There are three things in the world that he held in the smallest esteem - slugs, poets and caddies with hiccups.
P. G. Wodehouse -
Confidence, of course is an admirable asset to a golfer, but it should be an unspoken confidence. It is perilous to put it into speech. The gods of golf lie in wait to chasten the presumptious.
P. G. Wodehouse -
...there was practically one handwriting common to the whole school when it came to writing lines. It resembled the movements of a fly that had fallen into an ink-pot, and subsequently taken a little brisk exercise on a sheet of foolscap by way of restoring the circulation.
P. G. Wodehouse -
Even at normal times Aunt Dahlia's map tended a little towards the crushed strawberry. But never had I seen it take on so pronounced a richness as now. She looked like a tomato struggling for self-expression.
P. G. Wodehouse
-
Lady Glossip: Mr. Wooster, how would you support a wife? Bertie Wooster: Well, I suppose it depends on who's wife it was, a little gentle pressure beneath the elbow while crossing a busy street usually fits the bill.
P. G. Wodehouse -
It isn't often that Aunt Dahlia, lets her angry passions rise, but when she does, strong men climb trees and pull them up after them.
P. G. Wodehouse -
Honoria, you see, is one of those robust, dynamic girls with the muscles of a welterweight and a laugh like a squadron of cavalry charging over a tin bridge. A beastly thing to face over the breakfast table. Brainy, moreover.
P. G. Wodehouse -
It is no use telling me there are bad aunts and good aunts. At the core, they are all alike. Sooner or later, out pops the cloven hoof.
P. G. Wodehouse