Golf appeals to the idiot in us and the child. Just how childlike golf players become is proven by their frequent inability to count past five.

We are fated to love one another; we hardly exist outside our love, we are just animals without it, with a birth and a death and constant fear between. Our love has lifted us up , out of the dreadfulness of merely living.

The guarantee that our self enjoys an intended relation to the outer world is most, if not all, we ask from religion. God is the self projected onto reality by our natural and necessary optimism. He is the not-me personified.

What is the past, after all, but a vast sheet of darkness in which a few moments, pricked apparently at random, shine?

Affairs, ... , like everything else, ask too much.

Man is a means for turning things into spirit and turning spirit into things.

Hemingway describes literary New York as a bottle full of tapeworms trying to feed on each other.