Right Ho Jeeves Quotes

Gussie, a glutton for punishment, stared at himself in the mirror.

It isn't often that Aunt Dahlia lets her angry passions rise, but when she does, strong men climb trees and pull them up after them.

What you want, my lad, and what you're going to get are two very different things.

I don't want to wrong anybody, so I won't go so far as to say that she actually wrote poetry, but her conversation, to my mind, was of a nature calculated to excite the liveliest of suspicions. Well, I mean to say, when a girl suddenly asks you out of a blue sky if you don't sometimes feel that the stars are God's daisy-chain, you begin to think a bit.

She looked like a tomato struggling for self-expression.

Jeeves, I'm engaged." "I hope you will be very happy, sir." "Don't be an ass. I'm engaged to Miss Bassett.

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.

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.

I don't want to seem always to be criticizing your methods of voice production, Jeeves, I said, but I must inform you that that 'Well, sir' of yours is in many respects fully as unpleasant as your 'Indeed, sir?

The thought of being engaged to a girl who talked openly about fairies being born because stars blew their noses, or whatever it was, frankly appalled me.

Bertie, do you read Tennyson?" "Not if I can help.

We do not tell old friends beneath our roof-tree that they are an offence to the eyesight.

Am taking legal advice to ascertain whether strangling an idiot nephew counts as murder. If it doesn't look out for yourself.

You are falling into your old error, Jeeves, of thinking that Gussie is a parrot. Fight against this. I shall add the oz.

These dreamer types do live, don't they?

Beginning with a critique of my own limbs, which she said, justly enough, were nothing to write home about, this girl went on to dissect my manners, morals, intellect, general physique, and method of eating asparagus with such acerbity that by the time she had finished the best you could say of Bertram was that, so far as was known, he had never actually committed murder or set fire to an orphan asylum.

Angela nearly got inhaled by a shark while aquaplaning.

The exquisite code of politeness of the Woosters prevented me clipping her one on the ear-hole, but I would have given a shilling to be able to do it. There seemed to me something deliberately fat-headed in the way she persisted in missing the gist.

The fact that pigs were abroad in the night seemed to bring home to me the perilous nature of my enterprise.

A chap's bedroom – you can't get way from it – is his castle, and he has every right to look askance if gargoyles come glaring in at him.

Gussie and I, as I say, had rather lost touch, but all the same I was exercised about the poor fish, as I am about all my pals, close or distant, who find themselves treading upon Life's banana skins.

There is enough sadness in life without having fellows like Gussie Fink-Nottle going about in sea boots.

But why do you want me? I mean, what am I? Ask yourself that." "I often have.

Stimulated by the juice, I believe, men have even been known to ride alligators.

We Woosters can bite the bullet.

In the spring, Jeeves, a livelier iris gleams upon the burnished dove." "So I have been informed, sir." "Right ho! Then bring me my whangee, my yellowest shoes, and the old green Homburg. I'm going into the Park to do pastoral dances.

She had turned away and was watching a duck out on the lake. It was tucking into weeds, a thing I've never been able to understand anyone wanting to do. Though I suppose, if you face it squarely, they're no worse than spinach.

I said, 'Don't talk rot, Old Tom Travers." "I am not accustomed to talk rot," he said. "Then, for a beginner," I said, "you do it dashed well.

I have no doubt that you could have flung bricks by the hour in England's most densely populated districts without endangering the safety of a single girl capable of becoming Mrs. Augustus Fink-Nottle without an anaesthetic.

More and more, it was beginning to be borne in upon me what a particularly difficult chap Gussie was to help. He seemed to so marked an extent to lack snap and finish. With infinite toil, you manoeuvred him into a position where all he had to do was charge ahead, and he didn't charge ahead, but went off sideways, missing the objective completely.

The discovery of some toy duck in the soap dish, presumably the property of some former juvenile visitor, contributed not a little to this new and happier frame of mind. What with one thing and another, I hadn't played with toy ducks in my bath for years, and I found the novel experience most invigorating. For the benefit of those interested, I may mention that if you shove the thing under the surface with the sponge and then let it go, it shoots out of the water in a manner calculated to divert the most careworn. Ten minutes of this and I was enabled to return to the bedchamber much more the merry old Bertram.

You probably think that being a guest in your aunt's house I would hesitate to butter you all over the front lawn and dance on the fragments in hobnailed boots, but you are mistaken. It would be a genuine pleasure. By an odd coincidence I brought a pair of hobnailed boots with me!' So saying, and recognising a good exit line when he saw one, he strode out, and after an interval of tense meditation I followed him. (Spode to Wooster)

Right ho, Jeeves.

Especially if the girl he had earmarked was one of these tough modern thugs, all lipstick and cool, hard, sardonic eyes, as she probably was.

I've said it before, and I'll say it again--girls are rummy. Old Pop Kipling never said a truer word than when he made that crack about the f. of the s. being more d. than the m.

What ho, Stinker.’ ‘Hallo, Bertie.’ ‘Long time since we met.’ ‘It is a bit, isn’t it?’ ‘I hear you’re a curate now.’ ‘Yes, that’s right.’ ‘How are the souls?

Very good," I said coldly. "In that case, tinkerty tonk." And I meant it to sting.

You can't expect an empty aunt to beam like a full aunt.

Once more he became silent, staring before him with sombre eyes. Following his gaze, I saw that he was looking at an enlarged photograph of my Uncle Tom in some sort of Masonic uniform which stood on the mantlepiece. I've tried to reason with Aunt Dahlia about this photograph for years, placing before her two alternative suggestions: (a) To burn the beastly thing; or (b) if she must preserve it, to shove me in another room when I come to stay. But she declines to accede. She says it's good for me. A useful discipline, she maintains, teaching me that there is a darker side to life and that we were not put into this world for pleasure only.

No girl, when she has been led to expect that a man is about to pour forth his soul in a fervour of passion, likes to find him suddenly shelving the whole topic in favour of an address on aquatic Salamandridae.

It was some time before this happened, for he had got a very fine hand indeed. I suppose it wasn't often that the boys of Market Snodsbury Grammar School came across a man public-spirited enough to call their head master a silly ass, and they showed their appreciation in no uncertain manner. Gussie may have been one over the eight, but as far as the majority of those present were concerned he was sitting on top of the world.

 'It seems to me, Jeeves, that the ceremony may be one fraught with considerable interest.' 'Yes, sir.' 'What, in your opinion, will the harvest be?' 'One finds it difficult to hazard a conjecture, sir.' 'You mean imagination boggles?' 'Yes, sir.' I inspected my imagination. He was right. It boggled

I remember when I was a kid at school having to learn a poem of sorts about a fellow named Pig-something—a sculptor he would have been, no doubt—who made a statue of a girl, and what should happen one morning but that the bally thing suddenly came to life. A pretty nasty shock for the chap, of course, but the point I'm working round to is that there were a couple of lines that went, if I remember correctly: She starts. She moves. She seems to feel The stir of life along her keel. And what I'm driving at is that you couldn't get a better description of what happened to Gussie as I spoke these heartening words. His brow cleared, his eyes brightened, he lost that fishy look, and he gazed at the slug, which was still on the long, long trail with something approaching bonhomie. A marked improvement.

Yes, Jeeves?" The man had materialized on the carpet. Absolutely noiseless, as usual. "A note for you, sir." "A note for me, Jeeves?" "A note for you, sir." "From whom, Jeeves?" "From Miss Bassett, sir." "From whom, Jeeves?" "From Miss Bassett, sir." "From Miss Bassett, Jeeves?" "From Miss Bassett, sir." At this point, Aunt Dahlia begged us for heaven's sake to cut out the cross-talk vaudeville stuff. Always willing to oblige, I dismissed Jeeves with a nod, and he flickered for a moment and was gone.

Get married, P.K. Purvis," said Gussie earnestly. "It's the only life ...

She looked like a tomato struggling for self – expression.

of the afternoon Mr. Fitz-Wattle----

the only onion in the hash.

In this life, you can choose between two courses. You can either shut yourself up in a country house and stare into tanks, or you can be a dasher with the sex. You can't do both.

London late at night -- or even in the daytime, for that matter -- is no place for a man in scarlet tights.

What, in your opinion, will the harvest be?" "One finds it difficult to hazard a conjecture, sir." "You mean imagination boggles?" "Yes, sir." I inspected my imagination. He was right. It boggled.

have to decide on the spur of the moment. I was reading in the paper the other day about those birds who are trying to split the atom, the nub being that they haven't the foggiest as to what will happen if they do. It may be all right. On the other hand, it may not be all right. And pretty silly a chap would feel, no doubt, if, having split the atom, he suddenly found

Не знам какво мислите вие, но аз съм забелязал, че от време на време, както си пасете кротко из попрището на живота, изневиделица ви сдрусват събития, преценявани като съдбовни дори от невъоръжено око. Вътрешен глас ви нашепва, че те вовеки веков ще останат запечатани в паметта ви. Година подир година редовно ще възкръсват в спомените ви тъкмо когато сте най-настроени за блажена дрямка и ще ви карат да се мятате в леглото като сьомга на кука.