The light was cut to lace by the trees that had grown so thick with leaves in the last few months. — 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
“Without worry to protect me, every thought that came into my mind received real attention.” — Ann Patchett Copy Share
“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
“He was in love, and never had he felt such kindness towards another person.” — Ann Patchett Copy Share
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
“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
“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
“...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
“Clearly he needed a father, but some other father, any other father, would have been preferable.” — Ann Patchett Copy Share
