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The least thing upset him on the links. He missed short putts because of the uproar of the butterflies in the adjoining meadows.
P. G. Wodehouse
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P. G. Wodehouse
Age: 93 †
Born: 1881
Born: January 1
Died: 1975
Died: January 1
Humorist
Librettist
Lyricist
Novelist
Playwright
Screenwriter
Songwriter
Writer
Guildford
Surrey
UK
Pelham Grenville Wodehouse
Sir Pelham Grenville Wodehouse
P.G. Wodehouse
Upset
Uproar
Golf
Golfing
Short
Butterflies
Least
Meadows
Thing
Golfers
Butterfly
Missed
Adjoining
Links
Putts
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I pity the shrimp that matches wits with you Jeeves
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He had the look of one who had drunk the cup of life and found a dead beetle at the bottom.
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As we grow older and realize more clearly the limitations of human happiness, we come to see that the only real and abiding pleasure in life is to give pleasure to other people.
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Warm-hearted! I should think he has to wear asbestos vests!
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I'm bound to say that New York's a topping place to be exiled in. Everybody was awfully good to me, and there seemed to be plenty of things going on, and I'm a wealthy bird, so everything was fine.
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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.
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I may as well tell you, here and now, that if you are going about the place thinking things pretty, you will never make a modern poet. Be poignant, man, be poignant!
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Dark hair fell in a sweep over his forehead. He looked like a man who would write vers libre, as indeed he did.
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Memories are like mulligatawny soup in a cheap restaurant. It is wiser not to stir them.
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I clutched at the brow. The mice in my interior had now got up an informal dance and were buck-and-winging all over the place like a bunch of Nijinskys.
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I shoved on a dressing-gown, and flew downstairs like a mighty, rushing wind.
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Well, there it is. That's Jeeves. Where others merely smite the brow and clutch the hair, he acts. Napoleon was the same.
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Now, I'm a mixer. I can't help it. It's my nature. I like men. I like the taste of their boots, the smell of their legs, and the sound of their voices. It may be weak of me, but a man has only to speak to me, and a sort of thrill goes down my spine and sets my tail wagging.
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Well, you certainly are the most wonderfully woolly baa-lamb that ever stepped.
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In every romance you have to budget for the occasional dust-up.
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He enjoys that perfect peace, that peace beyond all understanding, which comes to its maximum only to the man who has given up golf.
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A roll and butter and a small coffee seemed the only things on the list that hadn't been specially prepared by the nastier-minded members of the Borgia family for people they had a particular grudge against, so I chose them.
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It's not that I don't trust you, Dunstable, it's simply that I don't trust you.
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I am told by those who know that there are six varieties of hangover-the Broken Compass, the Sewing Machine, the Comet, the Atomic, the Cement Mixer and the Gremlin Boogie, and his manner suggested that he had got them all.
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As a child of eight Mr. Trout had once kissed a girl of six under the mistletoe at a Christmas party, but there his sex life had come to abrupt halt.
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