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Her laughter was a shiny thing, like pewter flung high in the air.

Pat Conroy

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Pat Conroy
Age: 70 †
Born: 1945
Born: October 26
Died: 2016
Died: March 4
Author
Basketball Player
Novelist
Screenwriter
Writer
Atlanta
Georgia
Patrick Conroy
Donald Patrick Conroy
High
Thing
Like
Pewter
Flung
Shiny
Laughter
Air
Laughing

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Except for memory, time would have no meaning at all.
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A recipe is a story that ends with a good meal.
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The water was pure and cold and came out of the Apennines tasting like snow melted in the hands of a pretty girl.
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Even today, I hunt for the fabulous books that will change me utterly. I find myself happiest in the middle of a book which I forget that I am reading, but am instead immersed in a made-up life lived at the highest pitch.
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Cameras are a lifesaver for very shy people who have nowhere else to hide. Behind a lens they can disguise the fact that they have nothing to say to strangers.
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I stood face to face with the moon and the ocean and the future that spread out with all its bewildering immensity before me.
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My soul grazes like a lamb on the beauty of an indrawn tide.
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Love had always issued out of the places that hurt the most.
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There is no downside to winning. It feels forever fabulous.
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I never read my reviews... not even the good ones. Barbra Streisand once told me, if just one person in the audience doesn't applaud, it bothers her. I'm the same way. I'd be devastated to read that someone didn't like my work.
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Craziness attacks the softest eyes and hamstrings the gentlest flanks.
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Like everything else, love's not worth much without some action to back it up.
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When I was 5 years old, my mother read me 'Gone With The Wind' at night, before I went to bed. I remember her reading almost all year.
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There is no teacher more discriminating or transforming than loss.
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Once he had drawn first blood, his war against the property of the state lost all its moral resonance.
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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.
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The mind is an intricate mechanism that can be run on the fuels of both victory and defeatism.
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I loved my parents... but that can never change the fact that my father's violence ruined my childhood.
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I've never cackled with laughter at a single line I've ever written. None of it has given me pleasure.
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