Mama always taught her children that words were pretty, but anyone can talk. She said, pay attention to that man or woman who acted, who did, who performed. She taught us to trust in thing we could see, not that… — Pat Conroy Copy Share Image
It's an article of faith that the novels I've loved will live inside me forever. — Pat Conroy Copy Share Image
“my folks wouldn't read a book if you put a gun to their dicks. but they read people all day long and always get… — Pat Conroy Copy Share Image
Cameras are a lifesaver for very shy people who have nowhere else to hide. Behind a lens they can disguise the fact that they… — Pat Conroy Copy Share Image
Carolina beach music," Dupree said, coming up on the porch. "The holiest sound on earth. — Pat Conroy Copy Share Image
“My memory often seems like a city of exiled poets afire with the astonishment of language, each believing in the integrity of his own… — Pat Conroy Copy Share Image
“We began our life together at a moment of natural self-pity and defeat that left an inimitable impression on both of us. The rejection… — Pat Conroy Copy Share Image
“I always liked your piety, Jack.” “I’m a lot cuter than the women of your generation,” Betsy said, playing up to Capers and Mike.… — Pat Conroy Copy Share Image
“From the beginning I've searched out those writers unafraid to stir up the emotions, who entrust me with their darkest passions, their most indestructible… — Pat Conroy Copy Share Image
“My mother's voice and my father's fists are two bookends of my childhood, and they form the basis of my art.” — Pat Conroy Copy Share Image
“Over the years, my church gave me passage into a menagerie of exotic words unknown in the South: "introit," "offertory," "liturgy," "movable feast," "the… — Pat Conroy Copy Share Image
