I assume my stance, and take back the club, low, slowly; at the top, my eyes fog over, and my joints dip… — John Updike Copy Share Image
My golf is so delicate, so tenuously wired together with silent inward prayers, exhortations and unstable visualizations, that the sheer pressure of… — John Updike Copy Share Image
Golf camaraderie, like that of astronauts and Antarctic explorers, is based on a common experience of transcendence; fat or thin, scratch or… — John Updike Copy Share Image
...as all souls are equal before their Maker, a two inch putt counts the same as a 250 yard drive. There is… — John Updike Copy Share Image
Golf's ultimate moral instruction directs us to find within ourselves a pivotal center of enjoyment: relax into a rhythm that fits the… — John Updike Copy Share Image
I know how to choke. Given even a splinter-thin opportunity to let my side down and destroy my own score, I will… — John Updike Copy Share Image
"Hit it with the back of your left hand" was the first swing thought I ever heard, brusquely bu not unlovingly put… — John Updike Copy Share Image
What other sport holds out hope of improvement to a man or a woman over fifty? True, the pros begin to falter… — John Updike Copy Share Image
The muttered hint, "Remember, you have a stroke here," freezes my joints like a blast from Siberia. — John Updike Copy Share Image
The golf swing is like a suitcase into which we are trying to pack one too many things. — John Updike Copy Share Image
Golf at its measured pace permits an electric excess of mental activity. — John Updike Copy Share Image
There was clearly great charm and worth in a sport so quaintly perverse in its basic instructions. Hit down to make the… — John Updike Copy Share Image
“TV families and your own are hard to tell apart, except your isn't interrupted every six minutes by commercials and theirs don't… — John Updike Copy Share Image
Imagine writing a poem with a sweating, worried-looking boy handing you a different pencil at the end of every word. My golf,… — John Updike Copy Share Image
Dream golf is simply golf played on another course. We chip from glass tables onto moving stairways; we swing in a straightjacket,… — John Updike Copy Share Image
The difficulty is, all swing thoughts decay, like radium. What burnt up the course on Wednesday has turned to lead on Sunday.… — John Updike Copy Share Image
The other sad truth about golf spectatorship is that for today's pros it all comes down to the putting, and that the… — John Updike Copy Share Image
Somehow, it is hard to dislike a man once you have played a round of golf with him. — John Updike Copy Share Image
Golf appeals to the idiot in us and the child. Just how childlike golf players become is proven by their frequent inability… — John Updike Copy Share Image
Many men are more faithful to their golf partners than to their wives and have stuck with them longer. — John Updike Copy Share Image
Life is a roller coaster, you have your ups and downs unless you fall off. — John Updike Copy Share Image
Children are not a zoo of entertainingly exotic creatures, but an array of mirrors in which the human predicament leaps out at us. — John Updike Copy Share Image
I assume my stance, and take back the club, low, slowly; at the top, my eyes fog over, and my joints dip and swirl… — John Updike Copy Share Image
The New England spirit does not seek solutions in a crowd; raw light and solitariness are less dreaded than welcomed as enhancers of our… — John Updike Copy Share Image
I imagine most of that stuff on the information highway is roadkill anyway. — John Updike Copy Share Image
Families, doing everything for each other out of imagined obligation and always getting in each other's way, what a tangle. — John Updike Copy Share Image
“The mind cannot fall asleep as long as it watches itself. Only when the mind moves unwatched and becomes absorbed in images that tug… — John Updike Copy Share Image
In fiction, imaginary people become realer to us than any named celebrity glimpsed in a series of rumored events, whose causes and subtler ramifications… — John Updike Copy Share Image
“Her hair had been going gray as long as he could remember; she bundled it behind in a bun held with hairpins that he… — John Updike Copy Share Image
