“The silly ass had left the kitchen door open, and I hadn't gone two steps when his voice caught me squarely in the eardrum.'You will find Mr Wooster', he was saying to the substitue chappie, 'an extremely pleasant and amiable young gentleman, but not intelligent. By no means intelligent. Mentally he is negligible - quite negligible'.Well, I mean to say. What!I suppose, strictly speaking, I ought to have charged in and ticked the blighter off properly in no uncertain voice. But I doubht whether it is humanly possible to tick Jeeves off.”

“Presently, I was aware that Jeeves was with me. I hadn't heard him come in, but you often don't with Jeeves. He just streams silently from spot A to spot B, like some gas.”

“[Aunt Dahlia to Bertie Wooster] 'To look at you, one would think you were just an ordinary sort of amiable idiot--certifiable, perhaps, but quite harmless. Yet, in reality, you are worse a scourge than the Black Death. I tell you, Bertie, when I contemplate you I seem to come up against all the underlying sorrow and horror of life with such a thud that I feel as if I had walked into a lamp post. I thought as much. Well, it needed but this. I don't see how things could possibly be worse than they are, but no doubt you will succeed in making them so. Your genius and insight will find the way. Carry on, Bertie. Yes, carry on. I am past caring now. I shall even find a faint interest in seeing into what darker and profounder abysses of hell you can plunge this home. Go to it, lad..I remember years ago, when you were in your cradle, being left alone with you one day and you nearly swallowed your rubber comforter and started turning purple. And I, ass that I was, took it out and saved your life. Let me tell you, young Bertie, it will go very hard with you if you ever swallow a rubber comforter again when only I am by to aid.”

“Oh, Jeeves,' I said; 'about that check suit.'Yes, sir?'Is it really a frost?'A trifle too bizarre, sir, in my opinion.'But lots of fellows have asked me who my tailor is.'Doubtless in order to avoid him, sir.'He's supposed to be one of the best men in London.'I am saying nothing against his moral character, sir.”

“Roderick Spode is the founder of the Saviours of Britain, a fascist organisation better know as the 'Black Shorts'...When you say 'shorts' mean 'shirts', of course.No. By the time Spode formed his association, there were no shirts left. He and his adherents wear black shorts.Footer bags, you mean?Yes.How perfectly foul.”

“A moment before this voice spoke, Lord Emsworth had been smirking. He now congealed, and the smile passed from his lips like breath off a razor, to be succeeded be a tense look of anxiety and alarm.”

“I gave it up. The man annoyed me. I hadn't the slightest objection to his spending his time planning massacres for the bourgeoisie, but I was dashed if I could see why he couldn't do it with a bright and cheerful smile.”