Quotes About Wodehouse

The only occupant of the more posh saloon bar was a godlike man in a bowler hat with grave, finely chiselled features and a head that stuck out at the back, indicating great brain power. To cut a long story short, Jeeves.

You don't get any five shillings out of me.' 'Oh, all right.' He sat silent for a space. 'Things happen to guys that don't kick in their protection money,' he said dreamily.

This Miss Wooster that I knew married a man named Spenser. Was she any relation? She is my Aunt Agatha, I replied, and I spoke with a good deal of bitterness, trying to suggest by my manner that he was exactly the sort of man, in my opinion, who would know my Aunt Agatha.

What would Jeeves do that for? It struck me as rummy, too.... I mean to say, it's nothing to Jeeves what sort of a face you have! No! said Cyril. He spoke a little coldly, I fancied. I don't know why. Well, I'll be popping. Toodle-oo!

Jeeves, I said, listen attentively. I don't want to give the impression that I consider myself one of those deadly coves who exercise an irresistible fascination over one and all and can't meet a girl without wrecking her peace of mind in the first half-minute. As a matter of fact, it's rather the other way with me, for girls on entering my presence are mostly inclined to give me the raised eyebrow and the twitching upper lip.

Mr Pett, receiving her cold glance squarely between the eyes, felt as if he were being disembowelled by a clumsy amateur.

I don't know when I've experienced a more massive silence than the one that followed my reading of his cheery epistle. Young Bingo gulped once or twice and practically every known emotion came and went on his face. Jeeves coughed one soft, low, gentle cough like a sheep with a blade of grass stuck in its throat, and then stood gazing serenely at the landscape.

His manner had the offensive jauntiness of the man who has had a cold bath when he might just as easily have had a hot one.

Mr Keeble stopped after making his announcement, and had to rattle his keys in his pocket in order to acquire the necessary courage to continue.

It is futile to advance the argument that glasses are unromantic. They are not. I know, because I wear them myself, and I am a singularly romantic figure, whether in my rimless, my Oxford gold-bordered, or the plain gent's spectacles which I wear in the privacy of my study.

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.

there was only one thing to be done. I went straight back to my room, dug out the cummerbund, and draped it round the old tum. I turned round and Jeeves shied like a startled mustang.

I was endeavouring to adjust the faculties, which were in urgent need of a bit of first-aid treatment.

He lit another cigar, and began to brood over the folly of mankind.

Once, soon after his arrival in London, he had allowed a dangerous fanatic to persuade him that the secret of health was to go without breakfast.

The question of the rightness or wrongness of Potts appeared to be one on which he was loth to set himself up as an authority.

But he has. Much funnier. In a way it was a sort of compliment, but Archie felt embarrassed. He withdrew coyly into the cushioned recess.

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 [prat], aren't you? Not that I want to hurt your feelings, of course. No, no, I see that. What I wish you to do is put the whole thing to that fellow Jeeves of yours, and see what he suggests.

and, according to my nearest and dearest, practically a half-witted bachelor at that.

A planter, apparently, does not consider he has had a drink unless it contains at least seven ingredients, and I'm not saying, mind you, that he isn't right. The man behind the bar told us the things were called Green Swizzles; and, if ever I marry and have a son, Green Swizzle Wooster is the name that will go down on the register, in memory of the day his father's life was saved at Wembley.

It was my Uncle George who discovered that alcohol was a food well in advance of modern medical thought.

I started a funny book from the 1930s called The Code of the Woosters by P. G. Wodehouse. Wodehouse is a comic genius.

A melancholy-looking man, he had the appearance of one who has searched for the leak in life's gas-pipe with a lighted candle.

It was my Uncle George who discovered that alcohol was a food well in advance of modern medical thought.