“Life, Teresa knew by now, was a series of losses. It was other things too, better things, but the losses were as solid and dependable as the earth itself. Now” — Ann Patchett Copy Share Image
There was no one clear point of loss. It happened over and over again in a thousand small ways and the only truth there was to learn was that there was no getting used to it. — Ann Patchett Copy Share Image
I can't write the book I want to write, but I can and will write the book I am capable of writing. — Ann Patchett Copy Share Image
“Without worry to protect me, every thought that came into my mind received real attention.” — Ann Patchett Copy Share Image
“I wrote the last sentence of The Patron Saint of Liars in early April and stumbled out of my apartment and into the beautiful… — Ann Patchett Copy Share Image
“In the future, he will try to say her name enough, but he never can.” — Ann Patchett Copy Share Image
My novels are very much the same, as I think many people's novels are. — Ann Patchett Copy Share Image
“He was in love, and never had he felt such kindness towards another person.” — Ann Patchett Copy Share Image
If I was a waitress, I was too tired at the end of the day when I came home to try to write. — Ann Patchett Copy Share Image
“She didn't know how to hate her mother yet, but every time she left her father crying in the airport she came that much… — Ann Patchett Copy Share Image
“When you think of love you think as an American. You must think like a Russian. It is a more expansive view.' 'Americans havea… — Ann Patchett Copy Share Image
