Lady Glossop: Do you work, Mr. Wooster?
Bertie Wooster: What, work? As in honest toil, you mean? Hewing the wood and drawing the old wet stuff and so forth?
Lady Glossop: Quite.
Bertie Wooster: Well... I've known a few people who worked. Absolutely swear by it, some of them.
Bertie Wooster: Tell me, Jeeves, were you always like this, or did it come on suddenly?
Bertie Wooster: The brain, the gray matter. Were you an outstandingly brilliant child?
Jeeves: My mother thought me intelligent, sir.
Bertie: Well, can't go by that. My mother thought me intelligent.
Rupert Steggles: I'm going inside. This fresh air is getting into my lungs.
Jeeves: [waking him up] Good morning, Mr. Wooster.
Bertie Wooster: What? What's the time?
Jeeves: Ten past nine, sir.
Bertie Wooster: [irritated] Ten past nine!? Is the building on fire?
Jeeves: Not that I've been informed, sir, no.
[about the white mess jacket]
Jeeves: I assumed it had got into your wardrobe by mistake, sir, or else that it has been placed there by your enemies.
Bertie Wooster: I will have you know, Jeeves, that I bought this in Cannes!
Jeeves: And wore it, sir?
Bertie Wooster: Every night at the Casino. Beautiful women used to try and catch my eye!
Jeeves: Presumably they thought you were a waiter, sir.
Bertie Wooster: But how could anything go wrong? All he had to do was propose.
Jeeves: So one would be disposed to imagine, sir. However, upon finding himself alone with the young lady, he confesses to having lost his nerve. In such circumstances, gentlemen frequently talk at random, sir, saying the first thing that chances to enter their head. This, in Mr. Fink-Nottle's case, would seem to have been the newt: its treatment in sickness and in health.
Bertie Wooster: Bad, Jeeves.
Jeeves: Yes, sir.
Bertie Wooster: And how long did he go on talking about newts?
Jeeves: According to Mr. Fink-Nottle, he supplied Miss Bassett with very full and complete information, sir.
Bertie Wooster: Very bad, Jeeves.
Jeeves: Indeed, sir.
Jeeves: Good morning, Mrs. Travers. Mr. Wooster asked me to say that he has gone to Switzerland.
Aunt Dahlia: Oh, piffle, Jeeves, get the blighter out of bed.
Jeeves: Very good, madam. [goes into Bertie's room] Mrs. Travers, sir.
Bertie Wooster: But, I thought I told you —
Jeeves: I'm afraid she seemed disinclined to believe me, sir
Stiffy Byng: Bertie, I think you're a pig!
Bertie Wooster: A pig, maybe. But a shrewd, level-headed pig. A pig who was not born yesterday and has seen a thing or two.
Roderick Spode: Ah, Jeeves! Glad to see you here. You're just the sort of person we need in the movement — the working masses. [Jeeves stiffens visibly in response to this comparison]
Jeeves: [coldly] I hesitate to contradict you, Mr. Spode, but the "working masses" and I have barely a nodding acquaintanceship. Good afternoon.
Bertie Wooster: Was that the doorbell, Jeeves?
Jeeves: It certainly gave that impression, sir.
Bertie Wooster: Well, who could that be at this time of night?
Jeeves: I shall endeavor to ascertain, sir.
Bertie Wooster: Jeeves, unpleasantness has reared its ugly head in the West 1 postal district.
Jeeves: Feminine psychology is admittedly odd, sir. The poet Pope made frequent—
Bertie Wooster: Oh, never mind about the poet Pope, Jeeves.
Jeeves: No, sir.
Bertie Wooster: There are times when one wants to hear all about the poet Pope and times when one doesn't.
Jeeves: Very true, sir.
Jeeves: Foreign travel often liberates emotions best kept in check, sir, and the air of North America is notoriously stimulating in this regard, as witnessed by the regrettable behaviour of its inhabitants in 1776.
Bertie Wooster: What happened in 1776, Jeeves?
Jeeves: I prefer not to dwell on it, if it's convenient to you, sir.
[Bertie tries to steal the manuscript from Sir Watkyn's study]
Sir Watkyn Bassett: What are you doing here?
Bertie Wooster: Er ... dinner!
Sir Watkyn: Dinner? This isn't the dining room.
Bertie Wooster: Isn't it? Oh. Thought I could smell tapioca.
Sir Watkyn: The dining room's over there. You can't miss it. There are people having dinner in it.
Bertie Wooster: Aunt Dahlia! What ho, old blood relation!
Aunt Dahlia: [affectionately] Hello, Bertie, revolting young blot.
Bertie Wooster: If you ask me, Jeeves, art is responsible for most of the trouble in the world.
Jeeves: It's an interesting theory, sir. Would you care to expatiate upon it?
Bertie Wooster: Well, as a matter of fact, no, Jeeves. The thought just occurred to me, as thoughts do.
Jeeves: Very good, sir.
Bertie Wooster: This is a bit steep, Jeeves.
Jeeves: Approaching the perpendicular, sir.
Sir Watkyn Bassett: Perhaps you have hidden depths, Wooster, is that it?
Bertie Wooster: I don't think so. No one's ever mentioned it, anyway.
Bertie Wooster: Something up with the bath?
Jeeves: The water appears reluctant to drain, sir.
Bertie Wooster: Oh. Pulled the plug out, have you?
Jeeves: That was amongst the first things I thought of, sir.