Mama always taught her children that words were pretty, but anyone can talk. She said, pay attention to that man or woman who acted, who did, who performed. She taught us to trust in thing we could see, not that we heard.
PAT CONROYRed 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.
More Pat Conroy Quotes
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My soul grazes like a lamb on the beauty of an indrawn tide.
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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.
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Evil would always come to me disguised in systems and dignified by law.
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She had so mastered the strategies of camouflage that her own history had seemed a series of well-placed mirrors that kept her hidden from herself.
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I have heard it said that an inoculation to the sights and smells of the Carolina lowcountry is an almost irreversible antidote to the charms of other landscapes, other alien geographies.
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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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We, men, die because our faces were not watered enough.
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I would always be a better hater of things and institutions than a lover of them.
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I prayed hard and only gradually became aware that this fierce praying was a way of finding prologue and entrance into my own writing. This came as both astonishment and relief. When I thought God had abandoned me,
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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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Honor is the presence of God in man.
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I had come to a place where I was meant to be. I don’t mean anything so prosaic as a sense of coming home. This was different, very different. It was like arriving at a place much safer than home.
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But even her demons she invested with inordinate beauty, consecrated them with the dignity of her attention.
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Music could ache and hurt, that beautiful music was a place a suffering man could hide.
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The mind is an intricate mechanism that can be run on the fuels of both victory and defeatism.
PAT CONROY