It is not mere technical skill that makes a man a golfer, it is the golfing soul.

I am strongly of the opinion that, after the age of twenty-one, a man ought not to be out of bed and awake at four in the morning. The hour breeds thought. At twenty-one, life being all future, it may be examined with impunity. But, at thirty, having become an uncomfortable mixture of future and past, it is a thing to be looked at only when the sun is high and the world full of warmth and optimism.

Routine is the death to heroism.

You would be miserable if you had to go through life with a human doormat with 'Welcome' written on him. You want some one made of sterner stuff. You want, as it were, a sparring-partner, some one with whom you can quarrel happily with the certain knowledge that he will not curl up in a ball for you to kick, but will be there with the return wallop.

She looked like something that might have occured to Ibsen in one of his less frivolous moments.

He had just about enough intelligence to open his mouth when he wanted to eat, but certainly no more.

An apple a day, if well aimed, keeps the doctor away.