The Empress of Blandings was a pig who took things as they came. Her motto, like Horace’s, was nil admirari.
It must have been something pretty bad. It took a lot to make them chuck people out of music-halls in 1887. “Your uncle specifically states that father had drunk a quart and a half of champagne before beginning the evening,” she went on. “The book is full of stories like that. There is a dreadful one about Lord Emsworth.” “Lord Emsworth! Not the one we know? Not the one at Blandings?
In the circles in which I move it is pretty generally recognized that I am a resilient sort of bimbo, and in circumstances where others might crack beneath the strain, may frequently be seen rising on stepping-stones of my dead self to higher things.
London late at night – or even in the daytime, for that matter – is no place for a man in scarlet tights.
I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again – girls are rummy. Old Pop Kipling never said a truer word than when he made that crack about the f. of the s. being more d. than the m.
Golf, like measles, should be caught young, for, if postponed to riper years, the results may be serious.
She wished that she had been content with one of the seats at the back. But Jane Hubbard had insisted on the front row. She always had a front-row seat at witch dances in Africa, and the thing had become a habit.
Trouble sharpens the vision.
Spink-Bottle, you ghastly goggle-eyed piece of gorgonzola.
She looked like a tomato struggling for self – expression.
I might, that is to say, be safe from the dragon, but what about the hippogriffs? That was the question I asked myself. What price the hippogriffs?
This whole business of jacking up the soul is one that varies according to what Jeeves calls the psychology of the individual, some being all for it, others not. You take me, for instance. I don’t say I’ve got much of a soul, but, such as it is, I’m perfectly satisfied with the little chap. I don’t want people fooling about with it. ‘Leave it alone,’ I say. ‘Don’t touch it. I like it the way it is.
The metropolitan touch sometimes proves a trifle too exotic for the provinces.
I suppose you haven’t breakfasted?” “I have not yet breakfasted.” “Won’t you have an egg or something? Or a sausage or something? Or something?” “No, thank you.” She spoke as if she belonged to an anti-sausage society or a league for the suppression of eggs. There was a bit of a silence.
It was all too plainly her opinion that, if let loose in drawing rooms, I would immediately proceed to create an atmosphere reminiscent of a waterfront saloon when the Fleet is in.
You’re sitting in the old arm-chair, thinking of this and that, and then suddenly you look up, and there he is. He moves from point to point with as little uproar as a jelly fish.
You haven’t a flask on you, have you?’ ‘No.’ ‘A pity. One should always carry a flask about in case of emergencies. Saint Bernard dogs do it in the Alps. Fifty million Saint Bernard dogs can’t be wrong. I have just passed through a great emotional experience, Bertie.
I don’t think I have ever assisted at a ceremony which gave such universal pleasure to all concerned. The sheet didn’t split, which pleased Gussie. Nobody came to interrupt us, which pleased me. And when I dropped the suitcase, it hit Gussie on the head, which delighted Aunt Dahlia. As for Jeeves, one could see that the faithful fellow was tickled pink at having been able to cluster round and save the young master in his hour of peril. His motto is ‘Service.
Now, a great many fellows think that having a rich uncle is a pretty soft snap: but, according to Corky, such is not the case.
Felicia was a dutiful child, and she loved her parents. It took a bit of doing, but she did it.
Man and boy, Jeeves, I have been in some tough spots in my time, but this one wins the mottled oyster.