Quotes from P.G. Wodehouse

Jeeves, I said, when I had washed off the stains of travel, tell me frankly all about it. Be as frank as Lady Bablockhythe.

Mere surprise, however, was never enough to prevent Psmith talking.

Never mind, I said crisply. I have my methods. I dug out my entire stock of manly courage, breathed a short prayer and let her have it right in the thorax.

I went into the kitchen ten minutes back. The cat was sitting on the mat. Beale's narrative style closely resembled that of a certain book I had read in my infancy. I wish I could remember its title. It was a well-written book.

Scotties are smelly, even the best of them. You will recall how my Aunt Agatha's McIntosh niffed to heaven while enjoying my hospitality. I frequently mentioned it to you.' 'Yes, sir.' 'And this one is even riper. He should obviously have been bedded out in the stables.

Blandings Castle is not for the weak.

He's only got two sides, a bad side and a worse side

It was some time before this happened, for he had got a very fine hand indeed. I suppose it wasn't often that the boys of Market Snodsbury Grammar School came across a man public-spirited enough to call their head master a silly ass, and they showed their appreciation in no uncertain manner. Gussie may have been one over the eight, but as far as the majority of those present were concerned he was sitting on top of the world.

I wish people wouldn't tell me I can't do things.

Presently, the cow's audience-appeal began to wane. It was a fine cow, as cows go, but, like so many cows, it lacked sustained dramatic interest.

I once got engaged to his daughter Honoria, a ghastly dynamic exhibit who read Nietzsche and had a laugh like waves breaking on a stern and rockbound coast.

Well, ha-jolly-ha to YOU, young Stiffie-- with knobs on!

He is England's premier fiend in human shape.

I don't know anything that braces one up like finding you haven't got to get married after all.

It was one of those jolly, peaceful mornings that make a chappie wish he'd got a soul or something

I ordered another. If this was going to be a fish-story, I needed stimulants. On the liner going to New York I met a girl. Biffy made a sort of curious gulping noise not unlike a bulldog trying to swallow half a cutlet in a hurry so as to be ready for the other half. Bertie, old man, I can't describe her. I simply can't describe her. This was all to the good.

A pictorial record of his hopes and despairs would have looked like a fever chart.

I will be your wife, Bertie.' There didn't seem much to say to this except 'Oh, thanks.

She gave the impression of smiling with difficulty, possibly for fear of getting wrinkles.

She is very wonderful, Bertie. She is not one of these flippant, shallow-minded, modern girls. She is sweetly grave and beautifully earnest. She reminds me of - what is the name I want? Marie Lloyd? Saint Cecilia, said young Bingo, eyeing me with a good deal of loathing. She reminds me of Saint Cecilia. She makes me yearn to be a better, nobler, deeper, broader man.

Judge of my chagrin and all that sort of thing, therefore, when, tottering to my room and switching on the light, I observed the foul features of young Bingo all over the pillow.

I'm a bit short on brain myself; the old bean would appear to have been constructed more for ornament than for use, don't you know; but give me five minutes to talk the thing over with Jeeves, and I'm game to advise any one about anything.

Bertie, he said, I want your advice. Carry on. At least, not your advice, because that wouldn't be much good to anybody. I mean, you're a pretty consummate old ass, aren't you? Not that I want to hurt your feelings of course. No, no, I see that.

Experience, dearly bought in the days of his residence at the University, had taught him that when the Law gripped you with its talons the only thing to do was to give a false name, say nothing and hope for the best.