Quotes from P.G. Wodehouse

A girl who bonnets a policeman with an ashcan full of bottles is obviously good wife-and-mother timber.

Every author really wants to have letters printed in the paper. Unable to make the grade, he drops down a rung of the ladder and writes novels.

She's a sort of human vampire-bat

Well, there it is. That's Jeeves. Where others merely smite the brow and clutch the hair, he acts. Napoleon was the same.

One of the drawbacks to life is that it contains moments when one is compelled to tell the truth

As a dancer, I out-Fred the nimblest Astaire.

It was one of those still evenings you get in the summer, when you can hear a snail clear its throat a mile away.

Jeeves, I'm engaged. I hope you will be very happy, sir. Don't be an ass. I'm engaged to Miss Bassett.

Sober or blotto, this is your motto: keep muddling through.

He was one of those earnest, persevering dancers--the kind that have taken twelve correspondence lessons.

I don't want to seem always to be criticizing your methods of voice production, Jeeves, I said, but I must inform you that that 'Well, sir' of yours is in many respects fully as unpleasant as your 'Indeed, sir?

In your walks about London you will sometimes see bent, haggard figures that look as if they had recently been caught in some powerful machinery. They are those fellows who got mixed up with Catsmeat when he was meaning well.

A depressing musty scent pervaded the place, as if a cheese had recently died there in painful circumstances.

I don't know if you have had the same experience, but the snag I always come up against when I'm telling a story is this dashed difficult problem of where to begin it.

Birds, except when broiled and in the society of a cold bottle, bored him stiff.

How does he look, Jeeves? Sir? What does Mr Bassington-Bassington look like? It is hardly my place, sir, to criticize the facial peculiarities of your friends.

Between an egg that is fried and an egg that is cremated there is a wide and substantial difference.

The thought of being engaged to a girl who talked openly about fairies being born because stars blew their noses, or whatever it was, frankly appalled me.

the supply of the milk of human kindness was short by several gallons

Hugo?' 'Millicent?' 'Is that you?' 'Yes. Is that you?' 'Yes.' Anything in the nature of misunderstanding was cleared away. It was both of them.

She had a penetrating sort of laugh. Rather like a train going into a tunnel.

Good God, Clarence! You look like a bereaved tapeworm.

I pity the shrimp that matches wits with you Jeeves

Bertie, do you read Tennyson? Not if I can help.