That little white ball is always staring back at you, daring you to make a mistake.

Nobody asked how you looked, just what you shot.

What did I want with prestige? The British Open paid the winner $600 in American money. A man would have to be two hundred years old at that rate to retire from golf.

In golf, as in life, you get out of it what you put into it.

Those who go along get along.

But, no, I don't feel my career has not been fulfilled because I didn't win the US Open. It's like the guy said: You going to crucify a man because he missed a putt to win a tournament? Does a three-foot putt mean his whole life? Another guy said, well, he couldn't win the big one. Well, Jesus, what do you call those others? What's big and what's small?

Thinking instead of acting is the number one golf disease.