Golf is the Great Mystery. Like some capricous goddess, it bestows its favours with what would appear an almost fat-headed lack of method and discrimination. On every side we see big two-fisted he-men floundering round in three figures, stopping every few minutes to let through little shrimps with knock-knees and hollow cheeks, who are tearing up snappy seventy-fours.
P. G. WodehouseShe looked like something that might have occured to Ibsen in one of his less frivolous moments.
P. G. WodehouseHe groaned slightly and winced like Prometheus watching his vulture dropping in for lunch.
P. G. Wodehouse