Buy Books by PG Wodehouse
She looked as if she had been poured into her clothes and had forgotten to say "when."
The Duke of Dunstable had one-way pockets.
He would walk ten miles in the snow to chisel an orphan out of tuppence.
The fascination of shooting as a sport depends almost wholly on
whether you are at the right or wrong end of the gun
It is a good rule in life never to apologize. The right sort of people
do not want apologies, and the wrong sort take a mean advantage of them
I know I was writing stories when I was five. I don't know what I did before that . . . just loafed, I suppose.
As for Gussie Finknottle, many an experienced undertaker would have
been deceived by his appearance and started embalming on sight
Marriage isn't a process of prolonging the life of love, but of mummifying the corpse
Her face was shining like the seat of a bus-driver's trousers
A melancholy-looking man, he had the appearance of someone who had
searched for the leak in life's gas pipe with a lighted candle
"Have you ever tasted such filthy coffee?" "Never" said Joe, though he
had lived in French hotels
Few of them were to be trusted within reach of a trowel and a pile of bricks
I pressed down the mental accelerator
The old lemon throbbed fiercely. I got an idea
There is only one cure for grey hair. It was invented by a Frenchman. It is called the guillotine
He had just about enough intelligence to open his mouth when
he wanted to eat, but certainly no more
I always advise people never to give advice
She gave me the sort of look she would have given a leper she wasn't fond of
Wilfred Allsop was sitting up, his face pale, his eyes glassy, his hair disordered.
He looked like the poet Shelley after a big night out with Lord Byron
She wrinkles her nose at me as if
I were a drain that had got out of order
The Aberdeen terrier gave me an unpleasant look and said something
under his breath in Gaelic
Her eye swivelling round stopped me like a
bullet. The Wedding Guest, if you remember, had the same
trouble with the Ancient Mariner
There is a fog sir. If you will recollect, we are
now in Autumn - season of mists and mellow fruitfulness
I explain this to Jeeves and he said the same
thing had bothered Hamlet