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I don’t know why it is that I have always been happier thinking of somewhere I have been or wanted to go, than where I am at the time. I find it difficult to be happy in the present.

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
Present
Happy
Difficult
Find
Wanted
Always
Time
Happier
Thinking
Somewhere

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I learned that if I could read, I could cook. I surprised myself I like it.
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She was one of those Southerners who knew from an early age that the South could never be more for them than a fragrant prison, administered by a collective of loving but treacherous relatives.
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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.
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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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We old athletes carry the disfigurements and markings of contests remembered only by us and no one else. Nothing is more lost than a forgotten game.
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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.
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Good coaching is good teaching and nothing else.
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We've pretended too much in our family, Luke, and hidden far too much. I think we're all going to pay a high price for our inability to face the truth.
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Once you have traveled, the voyage never ends.
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These are the quicksilver moments of my childhood I cannot remember entirely. Irresistible and emblematic, I can recall them only in fragments and shivers of the heart.
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It is an art form to hate New York City properly. So far I have always been a featherweight debunker of New York it takes too much energy and endurance to record the infinite number of ways the city offends me.
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Happiness is an accident of nature, a beautiful and flawless aberration.
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Like everything else, love's not worth much without some action to back it up.
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The children of warriors in our country learn the grace and caution that come from a permanent sense of estrangement.
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Her laughter was a shiny thing, like pewter flung high in the air.
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The world of literature has everything in it, and it refuses to leave
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Walking the streets of Charleston in the late afternoons of August was like walking through gauze or inhaling damaged silk.
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I was born into the century in which novels lost their stories, poems their rhymes, paintings their form, and music its beauty, but that does not mean I have to like that trend or go along with it.
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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.
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Love had always issued out of the places that hurt the most.
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