Best 581 quotes in «lgbt quotes» category

My whole life I’ve been ordered about. Now I shall give the orders.” I’ve never seen Felicity so wounded. “Not me,” she says. “I never ordered you about.” “Oh, Fee.” The old Pippa surfaces for just a moment, hopeful and childlike. She pulls Felicity to her. Something I cannot name passes between them, and then Pip’s lips are on Fee’s in a deep kiss, as if they feed on one another, their fingers entwined in each other’s hair. And suddenly, I understand what I must have always known about them—the private talks, the close embraces, the tenderness of their friendship. A blush spreads across my neck at the thought. How could I not have seen it before?

Neighbours watching neighbours, twisting ropes to bind us all.

Ninguém vai olhar para a minha pulseira colorida. No fundo eu sei que quero mostrar isso para mim mesmo.

Nails that claw by a beautiful mind. A pretty face can leave you blind - Poem 'Small Pain' from 'The B Word: The B in LBGTQ Poetry'.

Never be content to sit back and watch as others' rights are trampled upon. Your rights could be next.

Never forget that all these people are primarily a visual people. They are designers, window dressers, models, photographers, graphic artists. They design the windows at Saks. Do you understand? They are a visual people, and they value the eye, and their sins, as Saint Augustine said, are the sins of the eye. And being people who live on the surface of the eye, they cannot be expected to have minds or hearts. It sounds absurd but it’s that simple. Everything is beautiful here, and that is all it is: beautiful. Do not expect anything else, do not expect nourishment for anything but your eye—and you will handle it all beautifully. You will know exactly what you are dealing with.

...none of us can stop listening. Because what is more transfixing than the sound of people hating you? In the darkest part of our hearts, we used to think that maybe they were right. We don't think that anymore.

No matter whether you’re a gay or a mixed race couple; when you’re drawn together, ultimately it doesn’t matter what everybody thinks because it’s so honest, true, and sincere. How can that be wrong?

(Note: I realize this is horrifying. Just keep reading.) "Turn to Leviticus 20:13, because I actually discovered the cure for AIDS. If a man also lie with mankind, as he lieth with a woman, both of them have committed an abomination: they shall surely be put to death. Their blood shall be upon them. And that, my friend, is the cure for AIDS. It was right there in the Bible all along — and they’re out spending billions of dollars in research and testing. It’s curable — right there. Because if you executed the homos like God recommends, you wouldn’t have all this AIDS running rampant." This is an American pastor openly calling for the death of all homosexuals. The anti-gay movement is now so extreme, some, (not all) call for genocide. So how about instead of Alex from Target or pumpkin spice lattes, we get this out on the media. Because this is disgusting. No one should have to be called worthless, better in death, for a problem they did not cause. AIDS did not start with homosexuals, and it's not going to end with them. The only thing that has to end is hate like this.

Nothing and no one in the world could kill the love I have for you. I have surrendered my whole individuality, the very essence of my being to you. I have given you my body time after time to treat as you pleased. All the hoardings of my imagination I have laid bare to you. There isn't a recess in my brain into which you haven't penetrated. I have clung to you and caressed you and slept with you and I would like to tell the whole world that I clamour for you. You are my lover and I am your mistress, and kingdoms and empires and governments have tottered and succumbed before now to that mighty combination-- the most powerful in the world.

Now of all the bonds between homosexual friends, none was greater than that between friends who danced together. The friend you danced with, when you had no lover, was the most important person in your life; and for people who went without lovers for years, that was all they had.

No. I don´t think it does go away. I know it won´t for me. I will keep busy. I will distract myself. I will eventually have days when I don´t have to remind myself to breathe. I know Nasrin will exist, maybe even be happy, and I will be okay. I ´ll bury my love, but it will never really go away.

Now whenever I left class to go to the boys' room, I worried that I would end up on the blue tiled floor in a puddle of piss and blood.

Of course, I know that love is sometimes like that—some men love men, some women love women.

One can learn from what is not said.

['non-white' gay men] are run over at the intersection of racism and homophobia

One day, progress being what it was, I hoped no one would have to have a big gay coming-out or a bisexual coming-out. It would just be what it was, and that would be that. But we weren't quite there yet.

Now is not the time for bigots and racists. No time for sexists and homophobes. Now, more than ever, is the time for ARTISTS. It’s time for us to rise above and to create. To show humanity. To spread hope. We must prevent society from destroying itself, from losing its way. Now is the time for love.

One of the best ways you can fight discrimination is by taking good care of yourself. Your survival is not just important; it's an act of revolution.

Our sexuality is body, culture, age, learning, habit, fantasies, worries, passions, and the relationships in which all these elements combine. That’s why sexuality can change with age, partner, experience, emotions, and sense of perspective.

One Saturday morning walking to the farmers' market with my lover she tells me she needs to look like a man on the street. She hates binding her breasts. Hates having breasts, hates not passing. I press her. I ask her, but what do you feel like when you're naked in bed with me? Do you like your body then? She is quiet. Later she tells me she had a dream. Her mother brought home a bottle of medicine from the hospital for her. The doctor says she has to take it. The medicine is testosterone. On Shabbat I remember to pray for enough space inside of me to hold all the darkness of the night and all the sunlight of the day. I pray for enough space for transformations as miraculous as the shift from day to night. Later when that lover has changed his name and an ex-boyfriend has come out to me as a lesbian I go to visit my best friend's sister-turned-brother-turned-sister-again and she tells me about the blessing of having many names and using them all at once.

People think that LGBTs adopting children will hurt them, but it's not being in loving homes that hurts children most.

People were so often mean that when they weren’t, there was a tendency to bestow sainthood upon them. Aster did not reward common decency with her affection.

Perhaps her parents are still with her, even after all these years. Carving a celestial path for her which she follows blindly. Whispering encouragement in her ears and reminding her why she chose the life she now leads. Avenge us.

Please your mother: just lie around upstairs and smoke some pot. Be a revolutionary.

Our glass train, on fragile tracks Beneath bombs that fall like the flood To wash away the shards —But all this sorrow will recede And we will leave Two by two And until then, I will only think of you.

Persecution complexes are reaffirming to those who benefit from unearned privileges.

Privilege is when you can afford to sit back and watch as others' rights are trampled upon.

Privilege is when you contribute to the oppression of others and then claim that you are the one being discriminated against.

Pride is not an LGBT celebration, it's a human rights celebration - it's a celebration of equality - it's a celebration of inclusion - it's a celebration of acceptance.

Privilege doesn't just insulate people from the consequences of their prejudice, it cuts them off from their humanity.

Queerness is as much about friendship as it is about sex.

Quando vide che era andata via, scoppiò in un pianto disperato. «Piangi Mary, fallo anche per me. Ormai non ho più lacrime per lei» disse Paola, stringendola forte per aggrapparsi a lei. "lo non sono pronta a vederti andar via" disse poi, rivolgendosi a Laura in un dialogo silenzioso "Perciò voglio pensare che arriverai al ncello e accorgendoti di aver dimenticato qualcosa tornerai indietro. Troverai la mia porta chiusa e deciderai di non bussare. Ed io, per tutto il tempo in cui non ci sarai, ti immaginerò lì fuori ad attendermi. Solo in questo modo riuscirò a sopportare la tua assenza

—¿Quieres seguir? —quiso asegurarse. —Un poco. Sonrió al escucharla. «Un poco». Con un poco iba a tener mucho.

Reducing a group to a slur or stereotype reduces us all.

Remember that you don't owe anyone an apology. You are who you are, you have no choice, and that is beautiful.

Right now, many female activists in their forties, fifties, sixties, seventies, and eighties are gazing thoughtfully into the glowing embers of lesbian culture. For us, this is still an active campfire where we gather and warm ourselves; one which, we hope, will not fade away into forgotten ash, but instead retain hot coals to stoke new fires. Such images of heat and spark have always served to symbolize shifts in leadership; think of that other fire-based metaphor, the passing of the torch - presumably, to a next generation. What does it mean if that next generation is disdainful of the torch, welcomes its dousing, or lacks the data or the will to learn how it was lit and carried forward in the first place?

Prejudice plunges you into a world of fear and hate. That's no way to live.

Prejudice is learned. What will you teach others through your actions and words?

Same-sex marriage has not created problems for religious institutions; religious institutions have created problems for same-sex marriage.

Say: "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

Saying something is 'politically correct' is often a way of dismissing the voices of the oppressed.

«Shawn non vede le cose che ho, vede le cose che sono,» riassunse Trevor. E per la prima volta, ascoltando la sua stessa voce, capì cosa doveva avere innescato in lui quell'amore. «Non sa che macchina possiedo, quale tipo di orologio, non gli interessa se indosso abiti firmati. Nemmeno me le chiede, ed è buffo perché mi viene in mente adesso che lo dico a voi. In questi mesi abbiamo parlato di tante cose, ma mai una volta di quelle materiali. Io provo qualcosa per lui. Qualcosa in confronto alla quale Jude e chiunque ci sia stato prima non erano che capricci.» (Trevor)

She had traveled to more cities, had experienced more scenes, than anyone she knew, and still she had come away from it all with only an abysmal sense of dissatisfaction. When would it all begin, the good part of this story she was living? When would she find her destiny, her purpose? When would she have the control her mother wielded, the drive her father possessed? When would she cease living the same wretched days over and over? Why was she still feeling empty and meaningless? Why—after all this time—did her purpose in life still escape her?

She kissed me on the cheek, and my mom sang Theresa’s name from the open front door. She loves Theresa. I think she loves me more when I’m with her.

She had seen just now what she had only sensed before, that the whole world was ready to be their enemy, and suddenly what she and Carol had together seemed no longer love or anything happy but a monster between them, with each of them caught in a fist.

Shock? More like shellshock at this point. Blondie knew I was gay, yet he was a Company Exec or else he wouldn’t be here. I was his butt boy in the worst possible way. When I squinted at him, he gave nothing up. Neither did I. I had shit on this newly minted man too. Double fucking jeopardy, jackass.

Samir loves Joe’s face. He studies it every day in class: a face as old as his own but already, in eighteen years, the cliffs and hills and odd proportions of its geography have been shaped by life’s weather. Samir likes to observe the ever-watchful green eyes, hidden in their shadowy alcoves over the at nose and cheekbones, and the heavy brow that scrunches up with Joe’s moods – all those sculptural planes could have been carved by Easter Islanders. en there’s the pout of his lips, the pucker of their concentration or the twist of their anger. But most of all, Samir examines the thoughts as they cross the wide-open landscape of the face. Tries hard to read their cloud shapes from the merest shadow.

She noticed a large grease stain on the front of her coveralls as she stood up. A few half-hearted wipes told her it was a lost cause. That’s what she got for wearing her good coveralls for a teardown. What had possessed her to even do so? Brionie hadn’t noticed. It would take more than that to get her attention

She's always scorned his squeamishness, citing the replacement of his vagina with a dick. Joon thinks that's invasion of a far more nail-biting nature. She has no idea. It was fucking heaven. He'd do it again a million times over. And it's one hell of a long way from chopping open your head for the sake of more tech.