“Watch out for guys like Scott Piercy and Danny Willett. They both play really good on fast, fast greens.”

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

I wanna have more majors than Jack Nicklaus.

To name oneself is the first act of both the poet and the revolutionary.

Beauty is worse than wine, it intoxicates both the holder and beholder.

There’s winning and there’s losing, and in life you have to know they both will happen. But what’s never been acceptable to me is quitting.

On the bright side,” Percy said, “both Jason and I outrank you, Octavian. So we can both tell you to shut up.

The obstacles preventing the realization of both these extreme states are of the same nature: they derive from our human condition which is opposed to everything infinite.

One of the funny things about the stock market is that every time one person buys, another sells, and both think they are astute.

I gasp, pressing both palms to my chest. Now the monstrous thing has its claws around my throat, squeezing my airway. I twist and put my head between my knees, breathing until the strangled feeling leaves me.

In France you get freedom of action: you can do what you like and nobody bothers, but you must think like everybody else. In Germany you must do what everybody else does, but you may think as you choose. They’re both very good things.