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I suppose he must have taken about a nine or something in hats. Shows what a rotten thing it is to let your brain develop too much.

P. G. Wodehouse

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P. G. Wodehouse
Age: 93 †
Born: 1881
Born: January 1
Died: 1975
Died: January 1
Humorist
Librettist
Lyricist
Novelist
Playwright
Screenwriter
Songwriter
Writer
Guildford
Surrey
UK
Pelham Grenville Wodehouse
Sir Pelham Grenville Wodehouse
P.G. Wodehouse
Nine
Brain
Taken
Shows
Must
Rotten
Thing
Hats
Much
Suppose
Something
Develop

More quotes by P. G. Wodehouse

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I know I was writing stories when I was five. I don't know what I did before that. Just loafed I suppose.
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She gave me another of those long keen looks, and I could see that she was again asking herself if her favourite nephew wasn't steeped to the tonsils in the juice of the grape.
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Love has had a lot of press-agenting from the oldest times but there are higher, nobler things than love.
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The real objection to the great majority of cats is their insufferable air of superiority.
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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.
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Well, you certainly are the most wonderfully woolly baa-lamb that ever stepped.
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Few of them were to be trusted within reach of a trowel and a pile of bricks.
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It's curious how, when you're in love, you yearn to go about doing acts of kindness to everybody.
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It is fatal to let any dog know that he is funny, for he immediately loses his head and starts hamming it up.
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Into the face of the young man who sat on the terrace of the Hotel Magnifique at Cannes there had crept a look of furtive shame, the shifty, hangdog look which announces that an Englishman is about to talk French.
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I pity the shrimp that matches wits with you Jeeves
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I don’t know if you have had the same experience, but the snag I always come up against when I’m telling a story is this dashed difficult problem of where to begin it.
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There's a sort of wooly headed duckiness about you. If I wasn't so crazy about Marmaduke, I could really marry you Bertie.
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He felt like a man who, chasing rainbows, has had one of them suddenly turn and bite him in the leg.
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Sober or blotto, this is your motto: keep muddling through.
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The spine, and I do not attempt to conceal the fact, had become soluble, in the last degree.
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As a dancer, I out-Fred the nimblest Astaire.
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I may as well tell you, here and now, that if you are going about the place thinking things pretty, you will never make a modern poet. Be poignant, man, be poignant!
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However devoutly a girl may worship the man of her choice, there always comes a time when she feels an irresistible urge to haul off and let him have it in the neck.
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you ever have that feeling when you step down onto a footstep that isn't there?
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