Quote

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?

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
Time
Allow
Wasting
Breakneck
Taking
Joyous
Circuit
Single
Mindfulness
Snap
Teach
Finger
Circuits
Eye
Note
Snaps
Moment
Notes
Ecstatic
Moments
Fingers
Blink
Without
Pass
Swift

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Looking around, I thought the human species was in fine shape and tried to think of something more beautiful than women and couldn't come up with a thing. The propagation of the species was a dance of total joy.
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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.
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Writing has never been that simple for me.
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Through sports a coach can offer a boy a secret way to sneak up on the mystery that is manhood.
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The world of literature has everything in it, and it refuses to leave
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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 don't believe in happy families.
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Once you have traveled, the voyage never ends.
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If smallness was fortune, then I had come across a treasure, infinitesimal and beyond value. I felt lucky. You had to decide what was estimable and precious in your life and set out to find it. The objects you valued defined you.
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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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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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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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Carolina beach music, Dupree said, coming up on the porch. The holiest sound on earth.
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I wrote to explain my own life to myself, stories are the vessels I use to interpret the world to myself.
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Rape is a crime against sleep and memory it's afterimage imprints itself like an irreversible negative from the camera obscura of dreams.
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My wound is geography. It is also my anchorage, my port of call.
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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.
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Saints make wonderful grandfathers and lousy husbands.
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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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Like everything else, love's not worth much without some action to back it up.
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