Quotes from P. G. Wodehouse

I'm] as broke as the ten commandments.

Woman is the unfathomable, incalculable mystery, the problem that we men can never hope to solve.

Well, you certainly are the most wonderfully woolly baa-lamb that ever stepped.

I never want to see anyone, and I never want to go anywhere or do anything. I just want to write.

It's not that I don't trust you, Dunstable, it's simply that I don't trust you.

When it comes to letting the world in on the secrets of his heart, he has about as much shrinking reticence as a steam calliope.

I believe there are two ways of writing novels. One is making a sort of musical comedy without music and ignoring real life altogether; the other is going deep down into life and not caring a damn...

It's and odd thing, but however much an oficionado one may be of mysteries in book form, when they pop up in real life they seldom fail to give one the pip.

Musical comedy is the Irish stew of drama. Anything may be put into it, with the certainty that it will improve the general effect.

I clutched at the brow. The mice in my interior had now got up an informal dance and were buck-and-winging all over the place like a bunch of Nijinskys.

the march of civilisation has given the modern girl a vocabulary and an ability to use it which her grandmother never had

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.

He was stoutly opposed to the idea of marrying anyone; but if, as happens to the best of us, he ever were compelled to perform the wedding glide, he had always hoped it would be with some lady golf champion who would help him with his putting, and thus, by bringing his handicap down a notch or two, enable him to save something from the wreck, so to speak.

I tried to utter, but could not. The tongue had got all tangled up with the uvula, and the brain seemed paralyzed. I was feeling the same stunned feeling which, I imagine, Chichester Clam must have felt as the door of the potting shed slammed and he heard Boko starting to yodel without -- a nightmare sensation of being but a helpless pawn in the hands of Fate.

That is all, Augustus,' she said, and dismissed me with a gesture of loathing, as if I had been a green-fly that had fallen short of even the very moderate level of decency of the average run-of-the-mill green fly.

He had the look of a frustrated tiger whose personal physician had recommended a strict vegetarian diet.

Man's inability to get out of bed in the morning is a curious thing. One may reason with oneself clearly and forcibly without the slightest effect. One knows that delay means inconvenience. Perhaps it may spoil one's whole day. And one also knows that a single resolute heave will do the trick. But logic is of no use. One simply lies there.

One of the Georges, said Psmith, I forget which, once said that a certain number of hours' sleep a day--I cannot recall for the moment how many--made a man something, which for the time being has slipped my memory. However, there you are. I've given you the main idea of the thing; and a German doctor says that early rising causes insanity.

She was rather like one of those innocent-tasting American drinks which creep imperceptibly into your system so that, before you know what you're doing, you're starting out to reform the world by force if necessary and pausing on your way to tell the large man in the corner that, if he looks at you like that, you will knock his head off.

You could have knocked me down with a feather,' said Lady Abbott, quite untruly. The feather had not been grown by bird that could have disturbed her balance for an instant.

Those haughty English aristocrats are like that. Tough babies. Comes of treading the peasantry underfoot with an iron heel, I guess.

It was a fine cow, as cows go, but, like so many cows, it lacked sustained dramatic interest.

I've often wondered why Nature, widely publicized being infinite in its wisdom, should have made the grave mistake of creating redheads, always so impulsive and quick on the trigger.

It suddenly struck me so forcibly, one morning while I was having my bath, that I hadn't a worry on earth that I began to sing like a bally nightingale as I sploshed the sponge about. It seemed to me that everything was absolutely for the best in the best of all possible worlds.