My motto is 'Love and let love' - with the one stipulation that people who love in glass-houses should breathe on the windows.

I shuddered from stem to stern, as stout barks do when buffeted by the waves.

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

It was loud in spots and less loud in other spots, and it had that quality which I have noticed in all violin solos of seeming to last much longer than it actually did.

She had a penetrating sort of laugh. Rather like a train going into a tunnel.

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.

And, anyway, no matter how much you may behave like the deaf adder of Scripture which, as you are doubtless aware, the more one piped, the less it danced, or words to that effect, I shall carry on as planned.