It is no use telling me there are bad aunts and good aunts. At the core, they are all alike. Sooner or later, out pops the cloven hoof.
He looked haggard and careworn, like a Borgia who has suddenly remembered that he has forgotten to shove cyanide in the consommé, and the dinner-gong due any moment.
A man's subconscious self is not the ideal companion. It lurks for the greater part of his life in some dark den of its own, hidden away, and emerges only to taunt and deride and increase the misery of a miserable hour.
Unlike the male codfish which, suddenly finding itself the parent of three million five hundred thousand little codfish, cheerfully resolves to love them all, the British aristocracy is apt to look with a somewhat jaundiced eye on its younger sons.
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.
As Shakespeare says, if you're going to do a thing you might as well pop right at it and get it over.
You're one of those guys who can make a party just by leaving it. It's a great gift.
If men's minds were like dominoes, surely his would be the double blank.
There are moments, Jeeves, when one asks oneself, 'Do trousers matter?'" "The mood will pass, sir.
It's a funny thing about looking for things. If you hunt for a needle in a haystack you don't find it. If you don't give a darn whether you ever see the needle or not it runs into you the first time you lean against the stack.
When you're alone you don't do much laughing.
I attribute my whole success in life to a rigid observance of the fundamental rule - Never have yourself tattooed with any woman's name, not even her initials.
Sober or blotto, this is your motto: keep muddling through.
And she's got brains enough for two, which is the exact quantity the girl who marries you will need.
The least thing upset him on the links. He missed short putts because of the uproar of the butterflies in the adjoining meadows.
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.
My motto is 'Love and let love' - with the one stipulation that people who love in glass-houses should breathe on the windows.
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.
She had a penetrating sort of laugh. Rather like a train going into a tunnel.
She fitted into my biggest arm-chair as if it had been built round her by someone who knew they were wearing arm-chairs tight about the hips that season
Rugby football is a game I can't claim absolutely to understand in all its niceties, if you know what I mean. I can follow the broad, general principles, of course. I mean to say, I know that the main scheme is to work the ball down the field somehow and deposit it over the line at the other end and that, in order to squalch this programme, each side is allowed to put in a certain amount of assault and battery and do things to its fellow man which, if done elsewhere, would result in 14 days without the option, coupled with some strong remarks from the Bench.
Always get to the dialogue as soon as possible. I always feel the thing to go for is speed. Nothing puts the reader off more than a big slab of prose at the start.
She had more curves than a scenic railway
That is life. Just one long succession of misunderstandings and rash acts and what not. Absolutely.
It is true of course, that I have a will of iron, but it can be switched off if the circumstances seem to demand it.
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