P. G. Wodehouse Quotes: 60 of the Funniest Lines

Jeeves—my man, you know—is really a most extraordinary chap.

Very good, sir. I shall endeavour to give satisfaction.

His eye gleams with the light of pure intelligence.

That was always a development to be feared, sir.

I hardly liked to take the liberty, sir.

Lady Malvern tried to freeze him with a look, but you can’t do that sort of thing to Jeeves. He is look-proof.

You can spot it even in the way he shoves studs into a shirt.

Jeeves trickled in with the tray, like some silent stream meandering over its mossy bed; and I saw daylight.

It seems a little obscure at present, sir, but no doubt it becomes clearer at a later point in the communication.

The green shade gives you a slightly bilious air.

I looked a cross between a music-hall comedian and a cheap bookie.

the old bean would appear to have been constructed more for ornament than for use, don’t you know

It seemed to me that there was a sort of something in her voice, a kind of thingummy, you know.

What I needed then was air, not dinner.

I was so darned sorry for poor old Corky that I hadn’t the heart to touch my breakfast. I told Jeeves to drink it himself.

Absent treatment seemed the touch. I gave it him in waves.

Then I went back to where I had been at first, because it hadn’t seemed quite so bad from there.

Have you ever trodden on a rake and had the handle jump up and hit you? That’s how I felt then.

I gave the moustache a thoughtful twirl. It seemed to hurt Jeeves a good deal, so I chucked it.

He picked up his glass and drained it feverishly, overlooking the fact that it hadn’t anything in it.

She reminded me so infernally of Aunt Agatha. She was the same gimlet-eyed type.

Well, I shall get blamed, don’t you know. You know what my Aunt Agatha is!

All I could think of was the picture of Aunt Agatha drinking all this in and reaching out to sharpen the hatchet against my return.

Rocky’s aunt looked less like an invalid than any one I’ve ever seen, except my Aunt Agatha.

It made me feel as if I were something the dog had brought in and intended to bury later on, when he had time.

I might—if I wanted her to get round to her lawyer’s in two rapid leaps and cut me out of her will.

Whenever the family take their eyes off her she escapes from the house and spends the day riding about in cabs.

I want you to plunge into the gay, prismatic life of New York.

I cannot stand idly by and see a young man going to perdition!

The man has very little intelligence.

I have known cases where marriage improved a man's game, and other cases where it seemed to put him right off his stroke.

Love is a fever which, so to speak, drives off without wasting time on the address.

For years they had shared each other's sorrows, joys, and golf-balls, and sliced into the same bunkers.

Mortimer, you must choose between golf and me.

Dash it all, it was a bit of a compliment.

I would sooner have smashed my pet driver than have had you leave me!

I don't care even if you play croquet, so long as you are with me!

Women have to learn to bear anecdotes from the men they love. It is the curse of Eve.

The gist of his remarks is that lovely woman rarely fails to start something.

He was one of those men who marry early and often.

They were real golfers, for real golf is a thing of the spirit, not of mere mechanical excellence of stroke.

Few things draw two men together more surely than a mutual inability to master golf, coupled with an intense and ever-increasing love for the game.

How snobbish! What does it matter where a man lives?

You can't expect a fellow to give up golf when he's at the top of his game.

I don't even know how to hold the caddie!

He missed short putts because of the uproar of the butterflies in the adjoining meadows.

Golf, my dear fellow, is the infallible test.

Over-confidence at golf is almost as bad as timidity.

They find it hardly worth while to get their hair cut in their brief intervals of liberty.

A moment before, he was, though technically living, a mere clod. A moment hence he will be a golfer.

The door behind him opened, and Beach the butler entered, a dignified procession of one.

Lord Emsworth was so acutely spectacle-less; Rupert Baxter, his secretary, so pronouncedly spectacled.

Do you know, Baxter, I really believe I must be growing absent-minded.

But, though gratified, he was not overwhelmed by the tribute. The same thought had often occurred to him independently.

The world seems full of hard-hearted relatives.

It was raining flower-pots.

Baxter, my dear fellow, your face is dirty.

It was Baxter, sure enough; and a tousled, wild-eyed Baxter incredibly clad in lemon-coloured pyjamas.

Lord Emsworth adjusted his glasses and stared at the desk as if he expected it to do a conjuring-trick.

The great door of the castle closed with a soft but significant bang--as doors close when handled by an untipped butler.