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by jarnagin
2144 days ago
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> "Oh, Parkinson, Parkinson!" I cried, patting him affectionately on the head with a mallet, "how far you really are from the pure love of the sport—you who can play. It is only we who play badly who love the Game itself. You love glory; you love applause; you love the earthquake voice of victory; you do not love croquet. You do not love croquet until you love being beaten at croquet. It is we the bunglers who adore the occupation in the abstract. It is we to whom it is art for art's sake. Excerpted from “The Perfect Game”, by G.K. Chesterton |
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[0] https://www.chesterton.org/a-thing-worth-doing/