A Quote by Willie Geist

If you're one of the fortunate few on this Earth with a pass to enter the gates of Augusta National on Masters Sunday, you don't leave early. You just don't. If it's a Masters Sunday when Tiger Woods is near the top of the leader board, you really don't leave early.
If you let it, the Masters will play you instead of you playing it. Augusta National can pamper you right off the bottom of the leader board. Pampered before and after your round, but mentally and emotionally pulverized during them - that's the formula.
We didn't have cable TV. We just couldn't afford it. But you don't need cable to watch the Masters. In 1997, at the exact moment I started out, I watched Tiger Woods win the Masters.
I wear green on Sunday because it's my mom's favorite color, but green goes pretty well on Sunday at the Masters, too.
It is Sunday, mid-morning-Sunday in the living room, Sunday in the kitchen, Sunday in the woodshed, Sunday down the road in the village: I hear the bells, calling me to share God's grace.
Leave everything. Leave Dada. Leave your wife. Leave your mistress. Leave your hopes and fears. Leave your children in the woods. Leave the substance for the shadow. Leave your easy life, leave what you are given for the future. Set off on the roads.
I'm not bragging, but just going Sunday to Sunday, it will be a real rare game when I don't catch a pass.
The Masters is not greedy. You wanna buy a Masters souvenir logo shirt? Sure, let's go over to the nearest Ralph Lauren boutique. Oops, you can only purchase Masters memorabilia at the Masters, this one week of the year.
The experience at the Masters was two years ago, and I am eager to win again this year so I can return to Augusta National in 2016.
The final group, on Sunday at the Masters, is the greatest feeling in the world for a professional golfer.
I remember what a thrill it was to attend my first Champions Dinner. Just being in the same room with some of the guys I had admired growing up and to be there because I had won The Masters was quite an honor. I still attend the dinner every year and it is one of the highlights of my time at Augusta during Masters week.
You can't take up golf on a whim and find yourself competing against Tiger Woods in the Masters six months later.
If there's a golf course in heaven, I hope it's like Augusta National. I just don't want an early tee time.
I love nothing more than being in the last group on Sunday at the Masters. It's the greatest thing in professional golf.
Susan Boggs, a black runaway interviewed in Canada in 1863, said of the religious slave masters: 'Why the man that baptized me had a colored woman tied up in his yard to whip when he got home that very Sunday and her mother . . . was in church hearing him preach. He preached, You must obey your masters and be good servants.- That is the greater part of the sermon, when they preach to the colored folks. . . .'
Nothing is so musical as the sound of pouring bourbon for the first drink on a Sunday morning. Not Bach or Schubert or any of those masters.
It was a Sunday afternoon, wet and cheerless; and a duller spectacle this earth of ours has not to show than a rainy Sunday in London.
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