Ann Patchett

I've been thinking about how writing, for me, is an intense mixture of self-hatred and self-love.

Not only was everyone there certain of a kiss, they claimed they could identify the type of kiss: it was strong and passionate, and it took her by surprise.

True life was kept safe in the lines of Tchaikovsky’s Eugene Onegin while you went out into the world and met the obligations required of you.

If a human soul should dream of me, may he still remember me on awaking!

Having no understanding of French did not keep a priest safe from Carmen. Carmen gave him dreams.

It was almost enough to make a man quit, so that he could know the pleasures of starting again.

There were worse reasons to keep a person hostage. You keep someone always for what he or she is worth to you, for what you can trade her for, money or freedom or somebody else you want more.

The kind of love that offers its life so easily, so stupidly, is always the love that is not returned.

A daughter was a battle between fathers and boys in which the fathers fought valiantly and always lost.

“The quality of the gift depends on the sincerity of the giver. It also helps if the gift is something the receiver actually wants. So far you’ve given me your handkerchief, your notebook, and your pen. All three things I wanted.”