Put me into a crusader’s armor, a cardinal’s vestments. Let me feel the pygmy’s heartbeat, the queen’s breast, the torturer’s pleasure, the Nile’s taste, or the nomad’s thirst.
PAT CONROYPut me into a crusader’s armor, a cardinal’s vestments. Let me feel the pygmy’s heartbeat, the queen’s breast, the torturer’s pleasure, the Nile’s taste, or the nomad’s thirst.
PAT CONROYI would always be a better hater of things and institutions than a lover of them.
PAT CONROYFrom the very beginning, I wrote to explain my own life to myself, and I invited any readers who chose to make the journey with me to join me on the high wire.
PAT CONROYI’ve never had anyone’s approval, so I’ve learned to live without it.
PAT CONROYSilence (can) be the most eloquent form of lying.
PAT CONROYTeach them the quiet words of kindness, to live beyond themselves.
PAT CONROYMy soul found ease and rest in the companionship of books.
PAT CONROYWriting is the only way I have to explain my own life to myself.
PAT CONROYMen are prisoners of their genitalia and women are the keepers of the keys to paradise.
PAT CONROYI’ve always believed that dreams were both the love letters and the hate mail of the subconscious.
PAT CONROYTell me everything that I must know. Hold nothing back.
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.
PAT CONROYI stood face to face with the moon and the ocean and the future that spread out with all its bewildering immensity before me.
PAT CONROYBooks are living things and their task lies in their vows of silence.
PAT CONROYUrge them toward excellence, drive them toward gentleness, pull them deep into yourself, pull them upward toward manhood, but softly like an angel arranging clouds. Let your spirit move through them softly.
PAT CONROYThe English language on her tongue became a smoke-screen, without her eyes changing expression in the least.
PAT CONROY