I stood face to face with the moon and the ocean and the future that spread out with all its bewildering immensity before me.
PAT CONROYI’ve always believed that dreams were both the love letters and the hate mail of the subconscious.
More Pat Conroy Quotes
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Books are living things and their task lies in their vows of silence.
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Faulkner didn’t know he was William Faulkner. But they had to take the first step. They had to call themselves writers. That is the first revolutionary act a writer has to make. It takes courage. But it’s necessary
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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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Here’s what I love: when a great writer turns me into a Jew from Chicago, a lesbian out of South Carolina, or a black woman moving into a subway entrance in Harlem. Turn me into something else, writers of the world. Make me Muslim, heretic, hermaphrodite.
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When men talk about the agony of being men, they can never quite get away from the recurrent theme of self-pity.
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A library could show you everything if you knew where to look.
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Man wonders but God decides When to kill the Prince of Tides.
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Honor is the presence of God in man.
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One does not know where love will take you.
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There is no teacher more discriminating or transforming than loss.
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Few things linger longer or become more indwelling than that feeling of both completion and emptiness when a great book ends. That the book accompanies the reader forever from that day forward is part of literature’s profligate generosity.
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When mom and dad went to war the only prisoners they took were the children
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It did not look like the work of God, but it might have represented the handicraft of a God with a joyous sense of humor, a dancing God who loved mischief as much as prayer, and playfulness as much as mischief.
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But no one walks out of his family without reprisals: a family is too disciplined an army to offer compassion to its deserters.
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She was one of those Southerners who knew from an early age that the South could never be more for them than a fragrant prison, administered by a collective of loving but treacherous relatives.
PAT CONROY