And when women talk about being women, they can never quite get away from the recurrent theme of blaming men.
PAT CONROYThe mind is an intricate mechanism that can be run on the fuels of both victory and defeatism.
More Pat Conroy Quotes
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We die long before women do, with our hearts exploding or our blood pressure rising or our livers eaten away by alcohol because that lake of grief inside us has no outlet.
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Good writing is the hardest form of thinking. It 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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But even her demons she invested with inordinate beauty, consecrated them with the dignity of her attention.
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Then, too, I want a book so filled with story and character that I read page after page without thinking of food or drink because a writer has possessed me, crazed with an unappeasable thirst to know what happens next.
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Man wonders but God decides When to kill the Prince of Tides.
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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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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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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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There are no ideas in the South, just barbecue.
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One can learn anything, anything at all, I thought, if provided by a gifted and passionate teacher.
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A story is a living thing, it moves and shifts.
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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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Each of us would remember that all during our lives. It was the purest moment of freedom and headlong exhilaration that I had ever felt. A wordless covenant was set, and I would go back in my imagination, and return to where happiness seemed so easy to touch.
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My mother, Southern to the bone, once told me, “All Southern literature can be summed up in these words: ‘On the night the hogs ate Willie, Mama died when she heard what Daddy did to Sister.’” She raised me up to be a Southern writer, but it wasn’t easy.
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A recipe is a story that ends with a good meal.
PAT CONROY