Quote

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
Thing
Golfers
Butterfly
Missed
Adjoining
Links
Putts
Upset
Uproar
Golf
Golfing
Short
Butterflies
Least
Meadows

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A little bit added to what you've already got gives you a little bit more.
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Birds, except when broiled and in the society of a cold bottle, bored him stiff.
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I pressed down the mental accelerator. The old lemon throbbed fiercely. I got an idea.
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You know how it is with some girls. They seem to take the stuffing right out of you. I mean to say, there is something about their personality that paralyses the vocal cords and reduces the contents of the brain to cauliflower.
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you ever have that feeling when you step down onto a footstep that isn't there?
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Psmith is the only thing in my literary career which was handed to me on a plate with watercress round it, thus enabling me to avoid the blood, sweat and tears inseparable from an author's life.
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Oh, I don't know, you know, don't you know?
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My motto is 'Love and let love' - with the one stipulation that people who love in glass-houses should breathe on the windows.
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From my earliest years I had always wanted to be a writer. It was not that I had any particular message for humanity. I am still plugging away and not the ghost of one so far, so it begins to look as though, unless I suddenly hit mid-season form in my eighties, humanity will remain a message short.
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[I'm] as broke as the ten commandments.
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Sober or blotto, this is your motto: keep muddling through.
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...with each new book of mine I have always the feeling that this time I have picked a lemon in the garden of literature.
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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?
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He groaned slightly and winced like Prometheus watching his vulture dropping in for lunch.
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In his normal state he would not strike a lamb. I’ve known him to do it’ ‘Do what?’ ‘Not strike lambs
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Warm-hearted! I should think he has to wear asbestos vests!
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I suppose half the time Shakespeare just shoved down anything that came into his head.
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I shuddered from stem to stern, as stout barks do when buffeted by the waves.
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It was one of those cases where you approve the broad, general principle of an idea but can't help being in a bit of a twitter at the prospect of putting it into practical effect. I explained this to Jeeves, and he said much the same thing had bothered Hamlet.
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Into the face of the young man who sat on the terrace of the Hotel Magnifique at Cannes there had crept a look of furtive shame, the shifty, hangdog look which announces that an Englishman is about to talk French.
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