I hadn't the heart to touch my breakfast. I told Jeeves to drink it himself.

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?

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

He enjoys that perfect peace, that peace beyond all understanding, which comes to its maximum only to the man who has given up golf.

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 pity the shrimp that matches wits with you Jeeves

You know how it is with some girls. They seem to take the stuffing right out of you. I mean to say, there is something about their personality that paralyses the vocal cords and reduces the contents of the brain to cauliflower.