Quotes from P. G. Wodehouse

Very good, I said coldly. In that case, tinkerty tonk. And I meant it to sting.

Girls do go for the finely-chiselled. And apart from his looks, he's and artist, and there's something about artists that seems to act on the other sex like catnip on cats.

I'm sorry. You do realize, don't you, that we are practically strangers? ' 'Girls often employ that specious argument on a man. Only to discover later that he was a tadpole and they were a fish in the Palazeoic age. And then they look silly.

It wavered in style between the formal and the chummy, beginning 'Dear Madam', and ending 'So you see what a spot I'm in, ducky,' but it did present the facts.

All my bally life, dear boy," Motty went on, "I've been cooped up in the ancestral home at Much Middlefold, in Shropshire, and till you've been cooped up in Much Middlefold you don't know what cooping is!

Right ho, Jeeves.

Well, anyway, we walked around for a while, looking at the animals, and suddenly he asked me to marry him outside the cage of the Siberian yak. No sir, exclaimed Sigsbee H with a sudden strange firmness, the indulgent father who for once in his life asserts himself. When you get married, you'll get married in St Thomas's like any other nice girl.

I'm not absolutely certain of my facts, but I rather fancy it's Shakespeare - or, if not, it's some equally brainy lad - who says that it's always just when a chappie is feeling particularly top-hole, and more than usually braced with things in general that Fate sneaks up behind him with a bit of lead piping.

But what is the love life of newts, if you boil it right down? Didn't you tell me once that they just waggled their tails at one another in the mating season?' 'Quite correct.' I shrugged my shoulders. 'Well all right, if they like it. But it's not my idea of molten passion.

All a publisher has to do is write cheques at intervals, while a lot of deserving and industrious chappies rally round and do the real work.

I wonder if you have noticed a rather rummy thing about it -- viz. that it is everywhere. You can't get away from it. Love, I mean. Wherever you go, there it is, buzzing along in every class of life. Quite remarkable.

Well, this should certainly teach us, should it not, never to repine, never to despair, never to allow the upper lip to unstiffen, but always to remember that, no matter how dark the skies may be, the sun is shining somewhere and will eventually come smiling through.

It seems to me, Jeeves, that the ceremony may be one fraught with considerable interest.' 'Yes, sir.' 'What, in your opinion, will the harvest be?' 'One finds it difficult to hazard a conjecture, sir.' 'You mean imagination boggles?' 'Yes, sir.' I inspected my imagination. He was right. It boggled

All I tried to do was to give the little brute a cheerful expression. But, as it worked out, he looks positively dissipated.

Wooster: Wait a second; this white mess jacket is brand new. Jeeves: I assumed it had got into your wardrobe by mistake, sir, or else it had been placed there by your enemies.

I can't help your troubles," said Motty firmly. "Listen to me, old thing: this is the first time in my life that I've had a real chance to yield to the temptations of a great city. What's the use of a great city having temptations if fellows don't yield to them?

All my bally life, dear boy," Motty went on, "I've been cooped up in the ancestral home at Much Middlefold, in Shropshire, and till you've been cooped up in Much Middlefold you don't know what cooping

Lord Emsworth belonged to the people-like-to-be-left-alone-to-amuse-themselves-when-they-come-to-a-place school of hosts

A man who can set out in a cab for a fancy-dress ball and not get there is manifestly a poop of no common order.

My God, man! I gargled. The cravat! The gent's neckwear! Why? For what reason?

If there were more men like you, Mr. Wooster, London would be a better place. This was dead opposite to my Aunt Agatha's philosophy of life, she always having rather given me to understand that it is the presence in it of chappies like me that makes London more or less of a plague spot; but I let it go.

I always advise people to never give advice.

Poets, as a class, are business men. Shakespeare describes the poet's eye as rolling in a fine frenzy from heaven to earth, from earth to heaven, and giving to airy nothing a local habitation and a name, but in practice you will find that one corner of that eye is generally glued on the royalty returns.

Trouble sharpens the vision.