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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.

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
Life
Waiting
Start
Knowledge
Stills
Pitied
Still
Tides
Real
Lived
Would
Terrible
Men
Already

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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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The world of literature has everything in it, and it refuses to leave
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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.
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The only way I could endure being a coward was if I was the only one who knew it.
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Good writing is the hardest form of thinking.
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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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Good coaching is good teaching and nothing else.
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My mother raised me to be a writer.
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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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Without music, life is a journey through a desert.
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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 meet kids now who become novelists, poets, write for the theater and movies, who were simply inspired by what they saw during the Spoleto Festival.
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Baseball fans love numbers. They love to swirl them around their mouths like Bordeaux wine.
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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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Once you have traveled, the voyage never ends.
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I was born to be a point guard, but not a very good one.
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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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I do not have any other way of saying it. I think it happens but once and only to the very young when it feels like your skin could ignite at the mere touch of another person. You get to love like that but once.
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Her laughter was a shiny thing, like pewter flung high in the air.
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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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