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My mother thought of my father as half barbarian and half blunt instrument, and she isolated him from his children.
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
Father
Mother
Barbarian
Thought
Barbarians
Children
Blunt
Isolated
Instrument
Instruments
Half
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My wound is geography. It is also my anchorage, my port of call.
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The pursuit of greatness means that laziness has no place in your life.
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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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My father wouldn't let me take typing in childhood.
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Know this. I think you could be special if you only thought there was anything special about yourself.
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Evil would always come to me disguised in systems and dignified by law.
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The great teachers fill you up with hope and shower you with a thousand reasons to embrace all aspects of life. I wanted to follow Mr. Monte around for the rest of my life, learning everything he wished to share of impart, but I didn't know how to ask.
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Reading is the most rewarding form of exile and the most necessary discipline for novelists who burn with the ambition to get better.
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We wait for the tortoises to come. We wait for that lady who walks them. That’s how art works. It’s never a jackrabbit, or a racehorse. It’s the tortoises that hold all the secrets. We’ve got to be patient enough to wait for them.
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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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Writing is the only way I have to explain my own life to myself.
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Saints make wonderful grandfathers and lousy husbands.
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... silence (can) be the most eloquent form of lying.
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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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Good coaching is good teaching and nothing else.
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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.
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Love had always issued out of the places that hurt the most.
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