I was writing a story, 'The Artistic Career of Corky,' about two young men, Bertie Wooster and his friend Corky, getting into a lot of trouble, and neither of them had brains enough to get out of the trouble. I thought: Well, how can I get them out? And I thought: Suppose one of them had an omniscient valet?

In his normal state he would not strike a lamb. I’ve known him to do it’ ‘Do what?’ ‘Not strike lambs

She had more curves than a scenic railway

You would not enjoy Nietzsche, sir. He is fundamentally unsound.

In your walks about London you will sometimes see bent, haggard figures that look as if they had recently been caught in some powerful machinery. They are those fellows who got mixed up with Catsmeat when he was meaning well.

I suppose half the time Shakespeare just shoved down anything that came into his head.

He groaned slightly and winced like Prometheus watching his vulture dropping in for lunch.