| C.N. Douglas, comp. Forty Thousand Quotations: Prose and Poetical. 1917. | | | | Golf |
| | | Your play needs no excuse. Shakespeare. | 1 |
| What subtle hole is this? Shakespeare. | 2 |
| The harder matched, the greater victory. Shakespeare. | 3 |
| Strike, brave boys, and take your turns. Shakespeare. | 4 |
| | So they |
| Doubly redoubled strokes. |
Shakespeare. | 5 |
| | Where will I get a little page, |
| Where will I get a caddie? |
Thistle of Scotland. | 6 |
| Dont drive at a fellow-creature, so long as there is a reasonable chance of hitting him. W. E. Norris. | 7 |
| | When driving ceases, may we still be able |
| To play the shorts, putt and be comfortable. |
G. F. Carnegie. | 8 |
| | Welcome, grave stranger, to our green retreats, |
| Where health with exercise and freedom meets. |
Scott. | 9 |
| Either a wise man will not go into bunkers, or, being in, he will endure such things as befall him with patience. A. Lang. | 10 |
| We want a boy extremely for this function. Beaumont and Fletcher. | 11 |
| | Time-honored golf! I heard it whispered once |
| That he who could not play was held a dunce |
| On old Olympus, when it teemed with gods. |
G. F. Carnegie. | 12 |
| | One only thought can enter every head; |
| The thought of golf, to witand that engages |
| Men of all sizes, tempers, ranks and ages. |
G. F. Carnegie. | 13 |
| | And weve leeved it every hour, |
| But say not at all we will loft our ball |
| And hauff the hole in fower. |
| Then dormy hame we can sing through the round, |
| And die like golfers keen, |
| Weve played fu weel the short game and lang, |
| The game on the golfing-green. |
Thomas Dykes. | 14 | | |
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