Golf is a day spent in a round of strenuous idleness.

The child is father of the man.

Look at the fate of summer flowers, which blow at daybreak, droop ere even-song.

The world is too much with us; late and soon, getting and spending, we lay waste our powers: Little we see in Nature that is ours.

And suddenly all your troubles melt away, all your worries are gone, and it is for no reason other than the look in your partner's eyes. Yes, sometimes life and love really is that simple.

O dearer far than light and life are dear.

Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting. Not in entire forgetfulness, and not in utter nakedness, but trailing clouds of glory do we come.