Red hair, sir, in my opinion, is dangerous.
The fascination of shooting as a sport depends almost wholly on whether you are at the right or wrong end of the gun.
Freddie experienced the sort of abysmal soul-sadness which afflicts one of Tolstoy's Russian peasants when, after putting in a heavy day's work strangling his father, beating his wife, and dropping the baby into the city's reservoir, he turns to the cupboards, only to find the vodka bottle empty.
There is only one cure for grey hair. It was invented by a Frenchman. It is called the guillotine.
There are moments, Jeeves, when one asks oneself, 'Do trousers matter?'" "The mood will pass, sir.
As for Gussie Finknottle, many an experienced undertaker would have been deceived by his appearance and started embalming on sight.
She looked away. Her attitude seemed to suggest that she had finished with him, and would be obliged if somebody would come and sweep him up.
Unseen in the background, Fate was quietly slipping lead into the boxing-glove.
Mike nodded. A sombre nod. The nod Napoleon might have given if somebody had met him in 1812 and said, "So, you're back from Moscow, eh?
A melancholy-looking man, he had the appearance of one who has searched for the leak in life's gas-pipe with a lighted candle.