It’s impossible to explain to a Yankee what `tacky’ is. They simply have no word for it up north, but my God, do they ever need one.
Pat ConroyPat Conroy And when women talk about being women, they can never quite get away from the recurrent theme of blaming men.
Pat ConroyPat Conroy Charleston has a landscape that encourages intimacy and partisanship.
Pat ConroyPat Conroy From 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 ConroyPat Conroy 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 ConroyPat Conroy Once you have traveled, the voyage never ends.
Pat ConroyPat Conroy 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.
Pat ConroyPat Conroy Good coaching is good teaching and nothing else.
Pat ConroyPat Conroy 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.
Pat ConroyPat Conroy I’ve never had anyone’s approval, so I’ve learned to live without it.
Pat ConroyPat Conroy We were dirt poor but we had each other. We didn’t need much to have a lot.
Brad NeatonBrad Neaton Always show kindness and love to others. Your words might be filling the empty places in someone else heart.
Alexander KandovAlexander Kandov One quick sip of your memory I let it slip, and I go on without you.
Emma SchippersEmma Schippers If the scars on my heart were visible to the naked eye, maybe you’d think twice about inflicting more.
Laura Natoli-KearneyLaura Natoli-Kearney I am getting better at forgetting you. I am slowly but steadily learning the art of forgetting you.
Juana GarciaJuana Garcia Paper and pen petrify me, for they pierce right through me, drawing deep blue blood, leaving me utterly cold.
Shreya JoshiShreya Joshi
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