Quotes from P.G. Wodehouse

What with one thing and another, I can't remember ever having been chirpier than at about this period in my career. Everything seemed to be going right. On three separate occasions horses on which I'd invested a sizeable amount won by lengths instead of sitting down to rest in the middle of the race, as horses usually do when I've got money on them. ~ Bertram Bertie Wooster - The Inimitable Jeeves

You can't press your suit and another fellow's trousers simultaneously.

Didn't Frankenstein get married? Did he? said Eggy. I don't know. I never met him. Harrow man, I expect.

He seemed to be doing his best to marry into a family of pronounced loonies, and how the deuce he thought he was going to support even a mentally afflicted wife on nothing a year beat me. Old Bittlesham was bound to knock off his allowance if he did anything of the sort and, with a fellow like young Bingo, if you knocked off his allowance, you might just as well hit him on the head with an axe and make a clean job of it.

He sat looking at it with his eyes protruding in the manner popularized by snails, looking like something stuffed by a taxidermist who had learned his job from a correspondence course and had only got as far as lesson three.

The Paddock was one of those medium-sized houses with a goodish bit of very tidy garden and a carefully rolled gravel drive curving past a shrubbery that looked as if it had just come back from the dry cleaner - the sort of house you take one look at and say to yourself, Somebody's aunt lives there.

Change of scene is the thing. I head of a man. Girl refused him. Man went abroad. Two months later girl wired him Come back, Muriel. Man started to write out a reply; suddenly found that he couldn't remember girl's surname; so never answered at all, and lived happily ever after.

Stimulated by the juice, I believe, men have even been known to ride alligators.

It was one of the most disgusting spectacles I've ever seen-- this white-haired old man, who should have been thinking of the hereafter, standing there lying like an actor.

He made a noise like a pig swallowing half a cabbage

Squiffy, have you ever felt a sort of strange emptiness in the heart? A sort of aching void of the soul?' 'Oh, rather!' 'What do you do about it?' 'I generally take a couple of cocktails.

I merely called for my hat and stick in a marked manner and legged it. But the memory rankled, if you know what I mean. We Woosters do not lightly forget. At least, we do - some things - appointments, and people's birthdays, and letters to post, and all that - but not an absolute bally insult like the above. I brooded like the dickens.

You probably think that being a guest in your aunt's house I would hesitate to butter you all over the front lawn and dance on the fragments in hobnailed boots, but you are mistaken. It would be a genuine pleasure. By an odd coincidence I brought a pair of hobnailed boots with me!' So saying, and recognising a good exit line when he saw one, he strode out, and after an interval of tense meditation I followed him. (Spode to Wooster)

Aunt Agatha is my tough aunt, the one who eats broken bottles and conducts human sacrifices by the light of the full moon.

We Woosters can bite the bullet.

Would you say my head was like a pumpkin, Wooster?' 'Not a bit, old man.' 'Not like a pumpkin?' 'No, not like a pumpkin. A touch of the dome of St Paul's, perhaps.

A dog without influence or private means, if he is to make his way in the world, must have either good looks or amiability.

The drowsy stillness of the summer afternoon was shattered by what sounded to his strained senses like G.K. Chesterton falling on a sheet of tin.

She had turned away and was watching a duck out on the lake. It was tucking into weeds, a thing I've never been able to understand anyone wanting to do. Though I suppose, if you face it squarely, they're no worse than spinach.

He was a tubby little chap who looked as if he had been poured into his clothes and forgotten to say 'when'!

Dark hair fell in a sweep over his forehead. He looked like a man who would write vers libre, as indeed he did.

I shuttered from hairdo to shoe-sole

I don't get your drift. I will continue snowing.

You must meet old Rowbotham, Bertie. A delightful chap. Wants to massacre the bourgeoisie, sack Park Lane and disembowel the hereditary aristocracy. Well, nothing could be fairer than that, what?