“I’m a fighter. I’m a survivor, and I’ll get through anything people can throw at me.”

Sometimes it works out. Sometimes it doesn’t.

I’ve had enough of worrying about everybody else. Now I’m taking care of me.

I know there’s a lot of guys would love to see me fail.

I’m really good at math and history, but I suck in English.

I don’t hide anything. There’s just nothing to hide with me.

I’m not scared of Tiger. I’m not scared to go head-to-head. I’m not scared to have a long-drive contest with him.

Florida sends me a handicap sticker when I’m there. It’s embarrassing. But I can’t walk more than six holes before the whole knee swells up, and then I can’t go anymore.

Perception’s not reality.

You can be addicted to meat, as far as I’m concerned. Why else would I eat six cheeseburgers a day?

I’ve always been a quick putter, so I should never get the yips. But I got ’em. I got ’em bad.

I don’t mind hitting the ball bad, but when I feel like I’ve hit the ball pretty good for four days and shoot an 81, it’s not golf.

It seems there always something coming up for me during Masters week, but that’s not an excuse to play good or bad golf.

It just seems like the Democrats always have a problem when a Republican gets in office.

Kid Rock is a hell of an athlete.

It’s hard for me not to play on the West Coast. I love it out there.

I wanna have more majors than Jack Nicklaus.