Mini Golf Quotes

I play mini-golf like I shoot pool like I swim in it. That's also how I play the trombone, which is why it makes trumpet noises. For a saxophone-free duck quacking experience, try adding more water.

On either side of them the essence of honky tonk beach resort had now enclosed them: gas stations, fried clam stands, Dairy Treets, motels painted in feverish pastel colors, mini golf. Larry was drawn two painful ways by these things. Part of him clamored at their sad and blatant ugliness and at the ugliness of the minds that had turned this section of a magnificent, savage coastline into one long highway amusement park for families in station wagons. But there was a more subtle, deeper part of him that whispered of the people who had filled these places and this road during other summers. Ladies in sunhats and shorts too tight for their large behinds. College boys in red and black striped rugby shirts. Girls in beach shifts and thong sandals. Small screaming children with ice cream spread over their faces. They were American people, and there was a kind of dirty, compelling romance about them whenever they were in groups never mind if the group was in an Aspen ski lodge or performing their prosaic/ arcane rites of summer along Route 1 in Maine. And now all these Americans were gone.

Golf is so scenic that it makes me want to compose haikus on the greens. Mini-golf makes me want to write even shorter poetry.

Blaze said. "To Mini-Golf Insanity Land.

I like mini-golf. For me, it’s like long-billiards, where the green has contours, and the table is the floor. This putt-putt course is dilapidated, but that just makes it more challenging.

Maybe I could have done fifty things to avoid the accident. Left the car in the garage that day. Hurried through a yellow light that I'd stopped at. Gone to the beach instead of mini-golf. Been alone, not talking to friends. But I did all those things, and Celine hadn't done the many things she could have to avoid the accident, either. All the things get done and you regret them and then you accept them because there's nothing else to do. Regret doesn't budge things; it seems crazy that the force of all that human want can't amend a moment, can't even stir a pebble.

There was prom and finals and graduation. There were summer parties. Movies. Mini golf and dates and college orientations. There as life, moving on, and I missed it. Not because I couldn't go physically, but because I couldn't go emotionally. There were whole days when I couldn't leave my bed, not because of the bruises and scars, but because getting up and facing the world for another day felt too frightening, and too pointless.

Freedom, Alabama, wasn’t really the middle of nowhere. We had big fields and the woods, sure, and horses and cows, but if we drove half an hour to Auburn we had a mini-golf course, a mall, and both a Waffle House and a Red Lobster. We had a bowling alley and the water park, even if the water park had been closed last summer, and we had the second-largest zoo in Alabama. It wasn’t like we were Laura Ingalls Wilder or anything.

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can’t see her in the dark, but I know she’s looking at me when she says, “I know you’ve been kind of weird about Ryan and that’s why we didn’t use him for Mr. Vernon’s going-away party, but, Becs, you have to admit he’d be completely perfect for this. He has the hair and the accent and the guitar. The girls will totally eat him up.” She’s so right, but aaaaaaah. I’m way too embarrassed around Ryan. I mean, at least I learned my lesson and I’m not throwing myself at him anymore. No more bike crashes for me. The other day, he and Lance were in the line ahead of me, Sades, and Izzy at mini golf and when Lance asked us to join them, I was the one to say they should just go ahead so we could have girl time. I could tell Ryan was, like, ubershocked. His eyebrows were

There had been so many MoFo ladies—the librarian, the lawyer, the gastromancer who conversed with dead people via tummy rumbles, the psychic we underestimated (she’d told Big Jim that the human population was about to be wiped out, which had really killed the vibe of mini golf), the bodybuilder, the one who wouldn’t let me steal her earrings, the pet oncologist, the one from Zimbabwe, the one with six children, the one with dead mice in her pockets (Detective Turd eked them out, and she had to come clean about being an Indian python mom). These strange species of MoFo blew in and out of our lives like empty Cheeto® bags.

The men were great at turning me on, but their follow through reminded me of my mini golf games as a human. The first putt always went great, but no matter how close to the edge I got, or how many strokes I used, I could never get the ball in the hole.

Other perks of working for Disney are primarily in the form of discounts. The money I’ve saved through Disney discounts is unbelievable. I remember working at Staples and being excited when they finally gave us a 10% discount, which is nothing compared to what Disney offers. I got up to 60% off hotel rooms, 20-40% off merchandise, 20-40% off dining, a variety of discounts on Disney recreational offerings, 20% off quick service meals at Animal Kingdom and the resorts, and a holiday coupon book which included 30%, 40%, and 50% off meal coupons, free popcorn and soda coupons, free PhotoPass downloads, free rounds of mini golf, and extra park tickets.

Don’t harsh my hood,” she bantered back. “We’re getting a mini-golf course as soon as the meth factory pays off big on the next batch.

And in a way, what could be more rock and roll than lying around on deck being served caviar and champagne off a surfboard? If Keith Moon had lived long enough, he’d have loved it. Although come to that, he might have tried to push the mini-golf buggy into the pool.

But I didn’t regret it. I never regretted it, not for one second. How do you regret one of the best nights of your entire life? You don’t. You remember every word, every look. Even when it hurts, you still remember. chapter seventeen We drove through town, by all the old places, the mini golf course, the crab shack, and Jeremiah drove as fast he could, whistling.

Aidan fanned himself with his hand. “Stop, you’re turning me on.” “If old tech and mini-golf turns you on, do I have some schematics that may blow your mind.” I waggled my eyebrows.

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It’s extremely confusing to think about trying not to think, but I will say this: if Tolstoy really did pass the entrance exam for the White Polar Bear Club, he was in the wrong profession writing novels. He should have been a golfer.

Ben Hogan, in a phrase I always liked, talked about how he “dug his game out of the dirt.