By: P.G. Wodehouse

‘Did you throw that flowerpot?’ he demanded coldly.

By: P.G. Wodehouse

‘When we have turned this next corner you will see a most remarkable sight.’

By: P.G. Wodehouse

He melted away into the shrubbery just in time to avoid Miss Peavey.

By: P.G. Wodehouse

‘There is no finer tonic than a good look at a lobelia immediately after breakfast.’

By: P.G. Wodehouse

‘It’s much too dark to see flowers.’

By: P.G. Wodehouse

‘I have never gone in largely for crime hitherto, but something tells me I shall be rather good at it.’

By: P.G. Wodehouse

‘Across the pale parabola of Joy…’

By: P.G. Wodehouse

In a journey lasting several hours his society was likely to prove irksome.

By: P.G. Wodehouse

‘I have never written a poem about fish.’

By: P.G. Wodehouse

‘Let me describe for you the Yew Alley at Blandings.’

By: P.G. Wodehouse

‘Steal your aunt’s necklace?’ he said indulgently.

By: P.G. Wodehouse

‘I thought you’d be a tougher specimen altogether.’

By: P.G. Wodehouse

The distressing shrub completely spoiled his walk.

By: P.G. Wodehouse

‘You find me natty? Well, well, perhaps you are right.’

By: P.G. Wodehouse

‘I mean, a joke’s a joke, but that was a dashed good umbrella.’