Quote

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.

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
Well
Hidden
Mirrors
Strategy
Kept
Seemed
Camouflage
Series
Mastered
History
Strategies
Wells
Placed

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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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Good writing ... involves the agony of turning profoundly difficult thoughts into lucid form, then forcing them into the tight-fitting uniform of language, making them visible and clear.
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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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Writing poetry and reading books causes brain damage.
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My father wouldn't let me take typing in childhood.
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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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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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A recipe is a story that ends with a good meal.
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The only word for goodness is goodness, and it is not enough.
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Love had always issued out of the places that hurt the most.
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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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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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Man wonders but God decides When to kill the Prince of Tides.
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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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My mother thought of my father as half barbarian and half blunt instrument, and she isolated him from his children.
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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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The English language on her tongue became a smoke-screen, without her eyes changing expression in the least.
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Her laughter was a shiny thing, like pewter flung high in the air.
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Except for memory, time would have no meaning at all.
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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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