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I realized early that unless you're willing to kill the innocent, you can't win.

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
Winning
Innocent
Realized
Kill
Early
Unless
Willing

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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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The only word for goodness is goodness, and it is not enough.
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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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She thought she brought a gift of compassion for those exhausted souls who had not received a chest portion from the people who raised them. If compassion and therapy did not work, she could always send her patients to the local pharmacy for drugs.
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I lived with the terrible knowledge that one day I would be an old man still waiting for my real life to start. Already, I pitied that old man.
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My mother raised me to be a writer.
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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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Writing is the only way I have to explain my own life to myself.
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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 wing of a fly is proof enough of the existence of God for me.
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I've always found paranoia to be a perfectly defensible position.
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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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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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There is no teacher more discriminating or transforming than loss.
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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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Red Hook Road made me happy, and happy to be alive. It took me out of my home on the coast of South Carolina, placed me in the town along Red hook Road, and changed me the way good books always do.
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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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I’ve never had anyone’s approval, so I’ve learned to live without it.
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There are no verdicts to childhood, only consequences, and the bright freight of memory.
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Except for memory, time would have no meaning at all.
Pat Conroy