Man’s inability to get out of bed in the morning is a curious thing. One may reason with oneself clearly and forcibly without the slightest effect. One knows that delay means inconvenience. Perhaps it may spoil one’s whole day. And one also knows that a single resolute heave will do the trick. But logic is of no use. One simply lies there.
When Nature makes a chump like dear old Bobbie, she’s proud of him, and doesn’t want her handiwork disturbed. She gives him a sort of natural armour to protect him against outside interference. And that armour is shortness of memory. Shortness of memory keeps a man a chump, when, but for it, he might cease to be one.
I don’t mind people talking rot in my presence, but it must not be utter rot.
I’m bound to say I was not feeling entirely at my ease. There is something about the man that is calculated to strike terror into the stoutest heart. If ever there was a bloke at the very mention of whose name it would be excusable for people to tremble like aspens, that bloke is Sir Roderick Glossop. He has an enormous bald head, all the hair which ought to be on it seeming to have run into his eyebrows, and his eyes go through you like a couple of Death Rays.
Don’t forget that in pushing policemen into duck ponds the follow through is everything.
Have you lost the girl you love?’ ‘That’s what I’m trying to figure out. I can’t make up my mind. It all depends what construction you place on the words “I never want to see or speak to you again in this world or the next, you miserable fathead.”’ ‘Did she say that?
The club book was never intended to be light and titillated reading for the members. Its function is solely to acquaint those who are contemplating taking new posts with the foibles of prospective employers. This being so, there is no need for the record contained in the eighteen pages in which you figure. For I may hope, may I not, sir, that you will allow me to remain permanently in your service?
My earnest hope is that the entire remainder of my existence will be one round of unruffled monotony.
I had staked all on Gussie making a favourable impression on his hostess, basing my confidence on the fact that he was one of those timid, obsequious, teacup-passing, thin-bread- and-butter-offering, yes-men whom women of my Aunt Dahlia’s type nearly always like at first sight.
A hoarse shout from within and a small china ornament whizzing past my head informed me that my old friend was at home.
I hardly knew what to do. I wanted, of course, to rush down to Washington Square and grip the poor blighter silently by the hand; and then, thinking it over, I hadn’t the nerve. Absent treatment seemed the touch. I gave it him in waves.
She spoke as if she belonged to an anti-sausage society or a league for the suppression of eggs.
One of the Georges,” said Psmith, “I forget which, once said that a certain number of hours’ sleep a day – I cannot recall for the moment how many – made a man something, which for the time being has slipped my memory. However, there you are. I’ve given you the main idea of the thing; and a German doctor says that early rising causes insanity.
Trouble, after all, like beauty, is in the eye of the beholder.
No love could stand up against the sight of me in a sailor suit at the age of ten. I.
Few things are so pleasant as the anticipation of them...
Bingo swayed like a jelly in a high wind.
A little,” panted Mrs. Peagrim, who, though she danced often and vigorously, was never in the best of condition, owing to her habit of neutralizing the beneficent effects of exercise by surreptitious candy-eating. “I’m a little out of breath.
For a time the broken heart, and then suddenly the healing conviction that one is jolly well out of it.
Blandings Castle is not for the weak.