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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
Children
Blunt
Isolated
Instrument
Instruments
Half
Father
Mother
Barbarian
Thought
Barbarians

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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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Writing has never been that simple for 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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Humanity is best described as inhumanity.
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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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I've always found paranoia to be a perfectly defensible position.
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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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Once he had drawn first blood, his war against the property of the state lost all its moral resonance.
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I was born and raised on a Carolina sea island and I carried the sunshine of the low-country, inked in dark gold, on my back and shoulders.
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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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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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