...there occurred to me the simple epitaph which, when I am no more, I intend to have inscribed on my tombstone. It was this: "He was a man who acted from the best motives. There is one born every minute.

Work, the what's-its-name of the thingummy and the thing-um-a-bob of the what d'you-call-it.

There are moments, Jeeves, when one asks oneself, 'Do trousers matter?'" "The mood will pass, sir.

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.

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

Mr Beach was too well bred to be inquisitive, but his eyebrows here not. 'Ah!' he said. '?', cried the eyebrows. '? ? ?' Ashe ignored the eyebrows. ... Mr Beach's eyebrows were still mutely urging him to reveal all, but Ashe directed his gaze at that portion of the room which Mr Beach did not fill. He was hanged if he was going to let himself be hypnotized by a pair of eyebrows into incriminating himself.

Golf, like the measles, should be caught young, for, if postponed to riper years, the results may be serious.