P.G. Wodehouse Quotes

The voice of Love seemed to call to me, but it was a wrong number.

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.

Marriage is not a process for prolonging the life of love, sir. It merely mummifies its corpse.

He had just about enough intelligence to open his mouth when he wanted to eat, but certainly no more.

Red hair, sir, in my opinion, is dangerous.

I know I was writing stories when I was five. I don't know what I did before that. Just loafed, I suppose.

She looked away. Her attitude seemed to suggest that she had finished with him, and would be obliged if somebody would come and sweep him up.

I just sit at my typewriter and curse a bit.

It was one of the dullest speeches I ever heard. The Agee woman told us for three quarters of an hour how she came to write her beastly book, when a simple apology was all that was required.

From my earliest years I had always wanted to be a writer. It was not that I had any particular message for humanity. I am still plugging away and not the ghost of one so far, so it begins to look as though, unless I suddenly hit mid-season form in my eighties, humanity will remain a message short.

It has been well said that an author who expects results from a first novel is in a position similar to that of a man who drops a rose petal down the Grand Canyon of Arizona and listens for the echo.

...there was practically one handwriting common to the whole school when it came to writing lines. It resembled the movements of a fly that had fallen into an ink-pot, and subsequently taken a little brisk exercise on a sheet of foolscap by way of restoring the circulation.

The awful part of the writing game is that you can never be sure the stuff is any good.

Stimulated by the juice, I believe, men have even been known to ride alligators.

I'm not absolutely certain of the facts, but I rather fancy it's Shakespeare who says that it's always just when a fellow is feeling particularly braced with things in general that Fate sneaks up behind him with the bit of lead piping.

I could see that, if not actually disgruntled, he was far from being gruntled.

What ho!" I said.
"What ho!" said Motty.
"What ho! What ho!"
"What ho! What ho! What ho!"
After that it seemed rather difficult to go on with the conversation.

A melancholy-looking man, he had the appearance of one who has searched for the leak in life's gas-pipe with a lighted candle.

If there is one thing I dislike, it is the man who tries to air his grievances when I wish to air mine.

Unseen in the background, Fate was quietly slipping lead into the boxing-glove.