I was as limpid as dammit.

“Love, Miss Halliday, is a delicate plant. It needs tending, nurturing, assiduous fostering. This cannot be done by throwing the breakfast bacon at a…

— P.G. Wodehouse

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

— P.G. Wodehouse

“a chap who's supposed to stop chaps pinching things from chaps having a chap come along and pinch something from him.”

— P.G. Wodehouse

“Liz," said Mr. Cootes, lost in admiration, "when it comes to doping out a scheme, you're the snake's eyebrows!”

— P.G. Wodehouse

“One of the advantages a sister has when arguing with a brother is that she is under no obligation to be tactful. If she…

— P.G. Wodehouse

“Conversationally, I am like a clockwork toy. I have to be set going.”

— P.G. Wodehouse

“...he switched on the [flashlight]. When he did so, he instantly became the center attraction to a rowdy mob of those gnats, moths, and…

— P.G. Wodehouse

“My late Uncle Henry, you see, was by way of being the blot on the Wooster escutcheon. An extremely decent chappie personally, and one…

— P.G. Wodehouse

“Too often on such occasions one feels, as I feel so strongly with regard to poor old Stilton, that the kindly thing to do…

— P.G. Wodehouse

“He will lunch with you at your flat tomorrow at one-thirty. Please remember that he drinks no wine, strongly disapproves of smoking, and can…

— P.G. Wodehouse

“Ask the first lion cub you meet, and it will tell you that, once you’ve tasted blood, there is no pulling up, and it’s…

— P.G. Wodehouse

“Good Lord, Jeeves! Is there anything you don’t know?’ ‘I couldn’t say, sir.”

— P.G. Wodehouse

“In these days in which we live, when existence has become a thing of infinite complexity and fate, if it slips us a bit…

— P.G. Wodehouse

“[A]lways get to the dialogue as soon as possible. I always feel the thing to go for is speed. Nothing puts the reader off…

— P.G. Wodehouse

“It seems to be one of Nature’s laws that the most attractive girls should have the least attractive brothers. Fillmore Nicholas had not worn…

— P.G. Wodehouse