Without music, life is a journey through a desert.— Pat Conroy
The most fascinating Pat Conroy quotes that are easy to memorize and remember
Why do they not teach you that time is a finger snap and an eye blink, and that you should not allow a moment to pass you by without taking joyous, ecstatic note of it, not wasting a single moment of its swift, breakneck circuit?
American men are allotted just as many tears as American women.
But because we are forbidden to shed them, we die long before women do, with our hearts exploding or our blood pressure rising or our livers eaten away by alcohol because that lake of grief inside us has no outlet. We, men, die because our faces were not watered enough.
There's no word in the language I revere more than 'teacher.
' My heart sings when a kid refers to me as his teacher, and it always has. I've honored myself and the entire family of man by becoming a teacher.
It's impossible to explain to a Yankee what `tacky' is.
They simply have no word for it up north, but my God, do they ever need one.
I was born and raised on a Carolina sea island and I carried the sunshine of the low-country, inked in dark gold, on my back and shoulders.
Happiness is an accident of nature, a beautiful and flawless aberration
The most powerful words in English are, 'Tell me a story.'
Here is all I ask of a book- give me everything. Everything, and don't leave out a single word.
Teach them the quiet words of kindness, to live beyond themselves.
Urge them toward excellence, drive them toward gentleness, pull them deep into yourself, pull them upward toward manhood, but softly like an angel arranging clouds. Let your spirit move through them softly.
I stood face to face with the moon and the ocean and the future that spread out with all its bewildering immensity before me.
The great teachers fill you up with hope and shower you with a thousand reasons to embrace all aspects of life.
Each divorce is the death of a small civilization.
I'd be a conservative if I'd never met any.
They're selfish, mean-spirited, egocentric, reactionary, and boring.
I prayed hard and only gradually became aware that this fierce praying was a way of finding prologue and entrance into my own writing. This came as both astonishment and relief. When I thought God had abandoned me, I discovered that He had simply given me a different voice to praise the inexhaustible beauty of the made world.
No story is a straight line. The geometry of a human life is too imperfect and complex, too distorted by the laughter of time and the bewildering intricacies of fate to admit the straight line into its system of laws.
My mother, Southern to the bone, once told me, “All Southern literature can be summed up in these words: ‘On the night the hogs ate Willie, Mama died when she heard what Daddy did to Sister.’” She raised me up to be a Southern writer, but it wasn’t easy.
I've always found paranoia to be a perfectly defensible position.
Baseball fans love numbers. They love to swirl them around their mouths like Bordeaux wine.
She had so mastered the strategies of camouflage that her own history had seemed a series of well-placed mirrors that kept her hidden from herself.
One of the greatest gifts you can get as a writer is to be born into an unhappy family.
Once you have traveled, the voyage never ends, but is played out over and over again in the quietest chambers. The mind can never break off from the journey.
In Charleston, more than elsewhere, you get the feeling that the twentieth century is a vast, unconscionable mistake.
Fantasy is one of the soul's brighter porcelains.
Once you have traveled, the voyage never ends.
I had come to a place where I was meant to be.
I don't mean anything so prosaic as a sense of coming home. This was different, very different. It was like arriving at a place much safer than home.
The University of South Carolina has always played a role in my life and the intellectual life of South Carolina.
South Carolina is not a state; it is a cult.
... silence (can) be the most eloquent form of lying.
The pursuit of greatness means that laziness has no place in your life.
My wound is geography. It is also my anchorage, my port of call.
It did not look like the work of God, but it might have represented the handicraft of a God with a joyous sense of humor, a dancing God who loved mischief as much as prayer, and playfulness as much as mischief.
Music could ache and hurt, that beautiful music was a place a suffering man could hide.
Every athlete learns by theft and mimicry.
Walking the streets of Charleston in the late afternoons of August was like walking through gauze or inhaling damaged silk.
I loved my parents... but that can never change the fact that my father's violence ruined my childhood.
I wanted to become the seeker, the aroused and passionate explorer, and it was better to go at it knowing nothing at all, always choosing the unmarked bottle, always choosing your own unproven method, armed with nothing but faith and a belief in astonishment.
Humanity is best described as inhumanity.
The mind is an intricate mechanism that can be run on the fuels of both victory and defeatism.
Red Hook Road made me happy, and happy to be alive.
It took me out of my home on the coast of South Carolina, placed me in the town along Red hook Road, and changed me the way good books always do.
Craziness attacks the softest eyes and hamstrings the gentlest flanks.
You do not learn how to write novels in a writing program.
You learn how by leading an interesting life. Open yourself up to all experience. Let life pour through you the way light pours through leaves.
My attraction to story is a ceaseless current that runs through the center of me. My inexhaustible ardor for reading seems connected to my hunger for storylines that show up in both books and in the great tumbling chaos of life.
A recipe is a story that ends with a good meal.
Every woman I had ever met who walked through the world appraised and classified by an extraordinary physicality had also received the keys to an unbearable solitude. It was the coefficient of their beauty, the price they had to pay.
Mama always taught her children that words were pretty, but anyone can talk.
She said, pay attention to that man or woman who acted, who did, who performed. She taught us to trust in thing we could see, not that we heard.
Comely was the town by the curving river that they dismantled in a year's time.
Beautiful was Colleton in her last spring as she flung azaleas like a girl throwing rice at a desperate wedding. In dazzling profusion, Colleton ripened in a gauze of sweet gardens and the town ached beneath a canopy of promissory fragrance.
The safe places could only be visited;
they could only grant a momentary intuition of sanctuary. The moment always came when we had to return to our real life to face the wounds and grief indigenous to our homr by the river.
Few things linger longer or become more indwelling than that feeling of both completion and emptiness when a great book ends. That the book accompanies the reader forever from that day forward is part of literature's profligate generosity.
I've always believed that dreams were both the love letters and the hate mail of the subconscious.