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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.
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
Place
Brow
Like
Brows
Interior
Bucks
Interiors
Winging
Mice
Clutched
Bunch
Informal
Dance
Buck
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She looked as if she had been poured into her clothes and had forgotten to say 'when.'
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It is the bungled crime that brings remorse.
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This was not Aunt Dahlia, my good and kindly aunt, but my Aunt Agatha, the one who chews broken bottles and kills rats with her teeth.
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A girl who bonnets a policeman with an ashcan full of bottles is obviously good wife-and-mother timber.
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What is Love compared with holing out before your opponent?
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However devoutly a girl may worship the man of her choice, there always comes a time when she feels an irresistible urge to haul off and let him have it in the neck.
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Whenever I have that sad, depressed feeling, I go out and kill a policeman.
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The only way of really finding out a man's true character is to play golf with him. In no other walk of life does the cloven hoof so quickly display itself.
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The only thing that prevented a father's love from faltering was the fact that there was in his possession a photograph of himself at the same early age, in which he, too, looked like a homicidal fried egg.
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I shuddered from stem to stern, as stout barks do when buffeted by the waves.
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I know I was writing stories when I was five. I don't know what I did before that. Just loafed I suppose.
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What you want, my lad, and what you're going to get are two very different things.
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Birds, except when broiled and in the society of a cold bottle, bored him stiff.
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His whole aspect was that of a man who has unexpectedly been struck by lightning.
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He felt like a man who, chasing rainbows, has had one of them suddenly turn and bite him in the leg.
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It was one of those days you sometimes get latish in the autumn when the sun beams, the birds toot, and there is a bracing tang in the air that sends the blood beetling briskly through the veins.
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Success comes to a writer as a rule, so gradually that it is always something of a shock to him to look back and realize the heights to which he has climbed.
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Just another proof, of course, of what I often say - it takes all sorts to make a world.
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And she's got brains enough for two, which is the exact quantity the girl who marries you will need.
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