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The safe places could only be visited they could only grant a momentary intuition of sanctuary. The moment always came when we had to return to our real life to face the wounds and grief indigenous to our homr by the river.
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
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More quotes by Pat Conroy
My wound is geography. It is also my anchorage, my port of call.
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Writing poetry and reading books causes brain damage.
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Fantasy is one of the soul's brighter porcelains.
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I was born to be a point guard, but not a very good one.
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Know this. I think you could be special if you only thought there was anything special about yourself.
Pat Conroy
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.
Pat Conroy
I loved my parents... but that can never change the fact that my father's violence ruined my childhood.
Pat Conroy
Reading is the most rewarding form of exile and the most necessary discipline for novelists who burn with the ambition to get better.
Pat Conroy
Through sports a coach can offer a boy a secret way to sneak up on the mystery that is manhood.
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My soul grazes like a lamb on the beauty of an indrawn tide.
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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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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’ve never had anyone’s approval, so I’ve learned to live without it.
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You do not learn how to write novels in a writing program. You learn how by leading an interesting life. Open yourself up to all experience. Let life pour through you the way light pours through leaves.
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I still write in long hand. I type like a chimpanzee.
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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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Walking the streets of Charleston in the late afternoons of August was like walking through gauze or inhaling damaged silk.
Pat Conroy
The water was pure and cold and came out of the Apennines tasting like snow melted in the hands of a pretty girl.
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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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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.
Pat Conroy
