There is this quality, in things, of the right way seeming wrong at first.

Laws aren't ghosts in this country, they walk around with the smell of earth on them.

I once did something right. I played first-rate basketball. I really did. And after you're first-rate at something, no matter what, it kind of takes the kick out of being second-rate.

So much love, too much love, it is our madness, it is rotting us out, exploding us like dandelion polls.

The difficulty is, all swing thoughts decay, like radium. What burnt up the course on Wednesday has turned to lead on Sunday. Yet it does not do to have a blank mind: the terrible hugeness of the course will rush into the vacuum and the ball will spray like a thing berserk.

In memory's telephoto lens, far objects are magnified.

We are most alive when we're in love.