“For twenty-two years Sabine had told her stories to one person, so that the action and the telling had become inseparable. What was left was half a life, the one where she lived it but had nothing later to give… — Ann Patchett Copy Share Image
“Nothing comforted Sabine like long division. That was how she had passed time waiting for Phan and then Parsifal to come back from their tests. She figured the square root of the date while other people knit and read. Sabine… — 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
“...Nebraska was white, a page as still as fallen snow. It was not crosshatched with roads, overrun with the hard lines of interstate systems.… — Ann Patchett Copy Share Image
“Clearly he needed a father, but some other father, any other father, would have been preferable.” — Ann Patchett Copy Share Image
