In all crises of human affairs there are two broad courses open to a man. He can stay where he is or he can go elsewhere.
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.
I never want to see anyone, and I never want to go anywhere or do anything. I just want to write.
Many a man may look respectable, and yet be able to hide at will behind a spiral staircase.
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.
I turned on the pillow with a little moan, and at this juncture Jeeves entered with the vital oolong. I clutched at it like a drowning man at a straw hat.
Love has had a lot of press-agenting from the oldest times; but there are higher, nobler things than love.
Rex Stout's narrative and dialogue could not be improved, and he passes the supreme test of being rereadable. I don't know how many times I have reread the Wolfe stories, but plenty. I know exactly what is coming and how it is all going to end, but it doesn't matter. That's writing.
It was one of those parties where you cough twice before you speak and then decide not to say it after all.
If you could call the thing a horse. If it hadn't shown a flash of speed in the straight, it would have got mixed up with the next race.
I am Psmith," said the old Etonian reverently. "There is a preliminary P before the name. This, however, is silent. Like the tomb. Compare such words as ptarmigan, psalm, and phthisis.
I can detach myself from the world. If there is a better world to detach oneself from than the one functioning at the moment I have yet to hear of it.
The cup of tea on arrival at a country house is a thing which, as a rule, I particularly enjoy. I like the crackling logs, the shaded lights, the scent of buttered toast, the general atmosphere of leisured cosiness.
Employers are like horses — they require management.
A golfer needs a loving wife to whom he can describe the day's play through the long evening.
Flowers are happy things.
To say that New York came up to its advance billing would be the baldest of understatements. Being there was like being in heaven without going to all the bother and expense of dying.
It was my Uncle George who discovered that alcohol was a food well in advance of modern medical thought.
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?
Never put anything on paper, my boy, and never trust a man with a small black moustache.
To persons of spirit like ourselves the only happy marriage is that which is based on a firm foundation of almost incessant quarrelling.
It was a nasty look. It made me feel as if I were something the dog had brought in and intended to bury later on, when he had time.
I should think it extremely improbable that anyone ever wrote for money. Naturally, when he has written something, he wants to get as much for it as he can, but that is a very different thing from writing for money.
Work, the what's-its-name of the thingummy and the thing-um-a-bob of the what d'you-call-it.
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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