Best 205 quotes in «lesbian quotes» category

Homosexuality is immutable, irreversible and nonpathological.

Homosexuals are not made, they are born.

How heavenly it would be to live their lives free from the thought that they were being criticized, pointed out - their love for each other discussed as though it were some low vulgar thing.

I am not here to entertain straight people.

I am usually able to tolerate all kinds of victims of indoctrination except those who have been infected with xenophobia, racism, or homophobia.

I bet I could have stayed in my office for an hour, and you'd still be sitting here, gagging for me. - Cassie

Ich glaube nicht, dass ich Alex liebe, weil sie ein Mädchen ist, aber ich liebe doch, dass sie eins ist.

I couldn’t help wondering if she was gay. She was doing a good imitation of flirting, but perhaps it was just a ploy to keep me docile.

I consider you mine, because Donna considered you hers.

If my God damns people for love but saves them for brutle warfare, then that is not the God I know or wish to worship.

I don't know any homophobic people. That suggests fear. The people I know who hate gay folks are: illiterate, nescient, uneducated, uninstructed, unlearned, unschooled, untaught, backward, benighted, primitive, unenlightened, blockheaded, dense, doltish, hebetudinous, obtuse, stupid, thickheaded, thick-witted But not homophobic.

...I don't want you to live a miserable life, which you'll end up doing if you're constantly lying to yourself and everyone else about who you really are and what you really want.

If cheese was a woman, I'd marry her. I'd come home and eat her every night.

I didn't give you this life, honey. They took to you because of who you are. You gave yourself this life.

If I was gay, I wouldn't need an asterisk beside my name. I could stop worrying if the girl I like will bounce when she finds out I also like dick. I could have a coming-out party without people thinking I just want attention. I wouldn't have to explain that I fall in love with minds, not genders or body parts. People wouldn't say I'm 'just a slut' or 'faking it' or 'undecided' or 'confused.' I'm not confused. I don't categorize people by who I'm allowed to like and who I'm allowed to love. Love doesn't fit into boxes like that. It's blurry, slippery, quantum. It's only limited by our perceptions and before we slap a label on it and cram it into some category, everything is possible.

If your organization is not formally committed to a policy of nondiscrimination based on sexual orientation, gender identity, and gender expression or gender presentation in its employment practices, you should not expect lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, gender-nonconforming, queer, and/or questioning patients and families to feel safe seeking out your services.

If you're stuck with being dumpy then for me at least, the way to go is dumpy Goth. I can't abide skinny Goths. Never mind the undead, pale and interesting look I say. In my opinion, they should drink more blood, fill out a bit and enjoy life!

I had a very clear vision, of Selina with her hair about her shoulders, a crimson hat upon her head, a velvet coat, ice-skates - I must have been remembering some picture. I imagined myself beside her, the air coming sharply into our mouths. I imagined how it would be if I took her, not to Italy, but only to Marishes, to my sister's house; if I sat with her at supper, and shared her room, and kissed her - I cannot say what would frighten them most - her being a spirit-medium, or a convict, or a girl.

I guess lesbianism wasn't so rampant in those days, they would've gotten a bunk with each other and just left me alone, you know. Which would have been just as well, you know..

I had loved and lost, and now... Love had found me again, brought me back to life in the land of the dead.

I'm assuming you didn't just call me to come out of the closet to a blind woman' 'Oh, it's something I do everyday,' Kate said, enjoying Faith's sense of humor. 'I open up a phone book, randomly select a name, dial it, and when they answer, I proclaim I'm a lesbian and then hang up.

I kissed her and forgot death.

I just wish he didn't have the power to get to me." "I know, but you're a human being Hunter, and you have feelings. What would be weak is if you didn't.

I'm again a twelve-year old dreamer, a girl fascinated by an ancient piano and with Rona Lubliner's fingers.

I'm keeping my promise, I'm coming home. To her.

In the course of my life I have had pre-pubescent ballerinas; emaciated duchesses, dolorous and forever tired, melomaniac and morphine-sodden; bankers' wives with eyes hollower than those of suburban streetwalkers; music-hall chorus girls who tip creosote into their Roederer when getting drunk... I have even had the awkward androgynes, the unsexed dishes of the day of the *tables d'hote* of Montmartre. Like any vulgar follower of fashion, like any member of the herd, I have made love to bony and improbably slender little girls, frightened and macabre, spiced with carbolic and peppered with chlorotic make-up. Like an imbecile, I have believed in the mouths of prey and sacrificial victims. Like a simpleton, I have believed in the large lewd eyes of a ragged heap of sickly little creatures: alcoholic and cynical shop girls and whores. The profundity of their eyes and the mystery of their mouths... the jewellers of some and the manicurists of others furnish them with *eaux de toilette*, with soaps and rouges. And Fanny the etheromaniac, rising every morning for a measured dose of cola and coca, does not put ether only on her handkerchief. It is all fakery and self-advertisement - *truquage and battage*, as their vile argot has it. Their phosphorescent rottenness, their emaciated fervour, their Lesbian blight, their shop-sign vices set up to arouse their clients, to excite the perversity of young and old men alike in the sickness of perverse tastes! All of it can sparkle and catch fire only at the hour when the gas is lit in the corridors of the music-halls and the crude nickel-plated decor of the bars. Beneath the cerise three-ply collars of the night-prowlers, as beneath the bulging silks of the cyclist, the whole seductive display of passionate pallor, of knowing depravity, of exhausted and sensual anaemia - all the charm of spicy flowers celebrated in the writings of Paul Bourget and Maurice Barres - is nothing but a role carefully learned and rehearsed a hundred times over. It is a chapter of the MANCHON DE FRANCINE read over and over again, swotted up and acted out by ingenious barnstormers, fully conscious of the squalid salacity of the male of the species, and knowledgeable in the means of starting up the broken-down engines of their customers. To think that I also have loved these maleficent and sick little beasts, these fake Primaveras, these discounted Jocondes, the whole hundred-franc stock-in-trade of Leonardos and Botticellis from the workshops of painters and the drinking-dens of aesthetes, these flowers mounted on a brass thread in Montparnasse and Levallois-Perret! And the odious and tiresome travesty - the corsetted torso slapped on top of heron's legs, painful to behold, the ugly features primed by boulevard boxes, the fake Dresden of Nina Grandiere retouched from a medicine bottle, complaining and spectral at the same time - of Mademoiselle Guilbert and her long black gloves!... Have I now had enough of the horror of this nightmare! How have I been able to tolerate it for so long? The fact is that I was then ignorant even of the nature of my sickness. It was latent in me, like a fire smouldering beneath the ashes. I have cherished it since... perhaps since early childhood, for it must always have been in me, although I did not know it!

In the 70's, there was a profound fear of being gay, to be sure, but with the burgeoning understanding of sexism and misogyny, it became harder to understand why one would want to "sleep with the enemy," either. For some, lesbian love was a pragmatic route to fairness. (The sex and foot massages were just a bonus.)

In the mind of the public, she seemed endowed with an almost supernatural power to commit heinous acts, no matter the time or place.

I'm not lesbian; I'm not bisexual; I'm not straight. I'm just curious.

I’m twenty-four, a first grade teacher, have a Yorkie named Pedro, a goldfish named Fish, have never had sex, or a serious boyfriend, and I’m the town lesbian who pukes when she sees a pussy. Nothing really to be jealous of at all.

In the unification of two minds, orientation of sexuality is irrelevant.

I really feel that people who have problem with Lesbians‬, Gays‬ and Transgenders‬, should be blessed with any one of them Only to realize that they are human beings too..Let them live peacefully for gods sake!

Invisible lines, unbreakable rules Could all bend at the mercy of love

I seek a woman, the woman of my desires. Who won’t be scared by loyalty and truth, nor turn away from the darkness of a soiled past. – Decades

It's morning now, and I miss the soft rasp of her voice already. Ugh. I'm in trouble, aren't I?

I shivered again, remembering. I put the tip of one finger to my tongue. It tasted sharp—like vinegar, like blood. Like money.

...It had all happened in that instant she had seen Carol standing in the middle of the floor, watching her. Then the realization that so much had happened after that meeting made her feel incredibly lucky suddenly. It was so easy for a man and woman to find each other, to find someone who would do, but for her to have found Carol-

It's not conversion 'therapy;' it's conversion brainwashing.

I think maybe she could be my girlfriend. I don't want to be her girlfriend, though. But there's this part of me that totally knows I could be her boyfriend. I don't want her to think of me as a boy, or a boy substitute, though. I want to be a boyfriend who is a girl. I have no idea how to explain that stuff to anyone, let alone a girl I like. I just wish it was already all understood.

I told her the clitoris is like a Bonsai tree that needs constant tending and the g-spot is an unexplored island waiting to have a flag pinned on its peak. She laughed and said I should be a poet. Then we went to bed and crossed the sheets as if it were a new continent we had just discovered.

It’s a vampire cabal and I’m feeling like the odd human out…or lunch.

It's uncommon, far from unheard of. The elves and the angels have done it since the dawn of time, penning great epics of beautiful women loving beautiful women. No need for shame, little angel. You are full of surprises." Tears did leak from Flowridia's eyes, but of relief. No more fear.

I’ve been so careful my whole life that I don’t even want to imagine what I’ve missed.” Sara realized she was speaking so quickly she hadn’t taken a breath, and suddenly felt lightheaded. “I can’t miss you.

I was unable to deny my love for Jesus, but equally unable to make my love toward women disappear.

I was so used to pretending to be something I wasn't, it shocked me to be seen for what I was.

I want to love like my grandmother, who loved a woman like Joseph loved Mary. Someone so imperfect, so human, brave enough to love someone who already knows God.

I went into a lather of misery watching them, and thinking of you, and how in the end you'll all be locked together, like the poor beasts that get their antlers mixed and are found dead that way, their heads fattened with a knowledge of each other that they never wanted, having had to contemplate each other, head-on, eye to eye, until death; well, that will be you and Jenny and Robin.

Love has no why, no how, no who. It just is.

Living with stress and secrets is both stressful and secretive.

Love and sex with a man is like listening to a soloist. Pleasant, sometimes beautiful and moving. But with a woman.” She was wistful. “It is a symphony of sound and colour. You cannot help be swept up in it.