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I can't pass a bookstore without slipping inside, looking for the next book that will burn my hand when I touch its jacket, or hand me over a promissory note of such immense power that it contains the formula that will change everything about me.

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
Hands
Burn
Jacket
Change
Notes
Slipping
Power
Pass
Jackets
Everything
Touch
Formula
Book
Inside
Contains
Without
Hand
Formulas
Promissory
Looking
Note
Bookstore
Next
Immense
Bookstores

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There is no teacher more discriminating or transforming than loss.
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The English language on her tongue became a smoke-screen, without her eyes changing expression in the least.
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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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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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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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Humanity is best described as inhumanity.
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When men talk about the agony of being men, they can never quite get away from the recurrent theme of self-pity. And when women talk about being women, they can never quite get away from the recurrent theme of blaming men.
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From the very beginning, I wrote to explain my own life to myself, and I invited any readers who chose to make the journey with me to join me on the high wire.
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The great teachers fill you up with hope and shower you with a thousand reasons to embrace all aspects of life. I wanted to follow Mr. Monte around for the rest of my life, learning everything he wished to share of impart, but I didn't know how to ask.
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We children sat transfixed before that moon our mother had called forth from the waters. When the moon had reached its deepest silver, my sister, Savannah, though only three, cried aloud to our mother, to Luke and me, to the river and the moon, Oh, Mama, do it again! And I had my earliest memory.
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But no one walks out of his family without reprisals: a family is too disciplined an army to offer compassion to its deserters.
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I still write in long hand. I type like a chimpanzee.
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I've always found paranoia to be a perfectly defensible position.
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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'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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Baseball fans love numbers. They love to swirl them around their mouths like Bordeaux wine.
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Except for memory, time would have no meaning at all.
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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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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.
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