Best 2888 quotes in «gay quotes» category

Most people who are would each not be in love with their partner, if they did not have the kind of genitals they have.

Most straight people, and many gay people, especially those who came of age more recently, don’t understand how momentous and difficult coming out was to men and women of this generation. It seems so obvious now, so banal.

My choices, it seemed, were to be branded a sinner and live my life alone; to abandon my faith, the one thing I held most dear in the entire world; or to lie to everyone, pretend I was straight, and forget about it all.

My eyes go from green to fifty shades of gray, They do vary, eye to eye, over the sky, it's true. And you can always count on them being gay, Even though it turns out they are actually blue!

Naming something beautiful made it so. I'd seen this in the way the church spoke of marriage as a sacred institution and in the one man plus one woman bumper stickers people sported on their vehicles. The same ones my father would hand to any customer passing through his dealership service department. Naming something ugly had a similar effect. The sound of my mother's vomiting the night she drove me home had taught me this lesson better than anything else ever had. I was gay, had been named as such, a fact that once ingested had to be immediately expelled.

Never boyfriends? You've NEVER been in LOVE?" As I shake my head no, I look out the window, yearning to see Cole's sun-filled eyes again looking into mine. "Don't worry," Tiger said. "Love isn't easy- and it happens on its own time. Just hang in there. He’ll come around.

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.

Nico: I love you. Percy: What? Nico: Did you say something Jason? Jason: What? Nico: You just said you love Percy? Jason: Wait, what? No, I didn't, wait, Percy: Dude. What the Tartarus? Jason: No, Nico's the one who loves you. Nico: *Pushes Jason off the Argo ll* Percy: Did he just- Nico: No proof. Percy: But he just- Nico: No witnesses. Percy: But he just said- Jason: *Flying* Did you just push me off the ship???

No, I just mean … I’m not into … this.” “This?” Her scowl deepens and her teeth bare. “Aliens?” ”Women.” “Oh. Oh.” “Yes, oh.” “Oh.

No matter that information abounds that lets the public know that gay males come from two-parent homes and can be macho and women-hating, misguided assumptions about what makes a male gay still flourish. Every day boys who express feelings are psychologically terrorized, and in extreme cases brutally beaten, by parents who fear that a man of feeling must be homosexual. Gay men share with straight men the same notions about acceptable masculinity.

No matter how much they want to forbid something, Uranus, the planet of the truth will reveal the whole truth to the world. Uranus represents the truth of the God, therefore the truth comes from the Uranus. Christianity will finally have to announce that homosexuality is something normal, innately. Personally, I have been waiting for Uranus to reaches its peak in the Pisces and I am still waiting for the message of the Priests. Uranus will bring free marriages and anyone will be able to decide how they want to live without fear.

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?

Nonsense! I have merely come to terms with the fact that I am perfect, and I have decided life must go on, and I must learn to live with myself...

Now do you understand why I'm interested in you? You're a locked door, sweetheart. You give no one a key and you never answer the door when anyone knocks...Ah, but sometimes, sometimes I get a peek through the keyhole and what I find there...It's like glimpsing you as you're stripping. Underneath all of that darkness is something hungry, something desperate, something, oh, so deliciously vulnerable.

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.

Now,” he murmured huskily into my ear, licking the skin below my lobe. I shivered. “It’s your turn.” “Tease.

Now he had chanced on one of he standard hard-on sessions of the shower, as on both sides of him and across the room three queens sported horizontal members which they turned around from time to time to conceal or display, barely exchanging looks as they resolved. The old men took no interest in this activity, knowing perhaps from long experience that it rarely meant anything or led anywhere, was a brief and helpless surrender to the forcing-house of the shower. In a few seconds the hard-on might pass from one end of the room to the other with the foolish perfection of a Busby Berkeley routine.

Oh, and they said I have ADD, too." He lit a cigarette, his first of the day, and took a long, grateful drag. "But listen mate, I once sucked a geezer for twenty minutes to get him off. The clock was just over his shoulder and I timed it. Attention deficit?" He blew out a plume of smoke. "I don't think so.

....Oh, what???.... Can you repeat... okay... I will say I'm against every your though (What can yo do about that?) (Oh, oh you poor little kid, oh, oh you poor little man you can't do anything here is the story)...Once upon a time there was two women and one man,... they weren't let to go outside... they both were married to the same man... it was said to them "If They go outside they won't come back", but the truth was who goes outside he will be slaughtered, every finger one by one will be cutted, then little pushing inside a knife in the body, a lot of blood goes outside in the same time the other woman also get punished if the one get's. She is punished to drink the other woman blood, when this process is going again and again the man removes the clothes and he start jerk off on their faces..., (Yeah I know you will try to kill him, but you can't), you are bound with metal and rope handcuffs your legs and your arms. On your head you have a mask, if you move it detectes and it explodes when it explodes your face goes ugly from ugly you goes disable you are dead because this mask kills the brain... The other woman is next to a trap which detectes if she goes out of one zone, it goes like this if there is so much pressure it won't happen this, but if there isn't it goes very bad... The man is above few meters and he jerkoff on their faces and he does what he wants... and so on and so on... YOu can't change it, once you are the killer (Very bad for you, ...man), once you are the victim wow that's very bad I few awful if I was a victim somebody will jerk off on my face and I'm not a gay....! If this happen remind me to kill my self, I can't live with the thought that I'm a gay...

Oh-" I rest my back against the door to my apartment and purr as I slide down to the floor. "I need to get a tux too." "GREAT. We'll stop at the Tux Boutique tomorrow... while we're out making babies. I mean DELIVERIES. Sorry-" "I'd love that. Making babies... that is...

Oh, hell. You're a fairy," I said. "Yeah," he said. "You know, they call it 'being gay' nowadays, but sure, whatever.

Olivia picks invisible dirt from her nails. “A lack of judgment on my part, Moore. I assure you.” Just then, an evil glint arises in her green eyes as she looks up. “You still in the closet with your parents? I can fix that. Just one phone call and the gay door’s wide open.” His dark face goes red. “You’re – you’re – you’re a crusty slug!

O Love! Whore of a devil When would you find me?

Once I came out and told her I was gay, everything she thought about me changed. In her eyes, I was no longer the daughter she knew, or the daughter she raised, or the daughter she loved.

Once he asked me what I thought had turned me gay." "I hope you told him you were bitten by a gay spider," said Simon.

Once or twice, at night, he planted himself in front of the type-writer, trying to get back to the book he'd come to New York to write. It was supposed to be about America, and freedom, and the kinship of time to pain, but in order to write about these things, he'd needed experience. Well, be careful what you wish for. For now all he seemed capable of producing was a string of sentences starting, Here was William. Here was William's courage, for example. And here was William's sadness, smallness of stature, size of hands. Here was his laugh in a dark movie theater, his unpunk love of the films of Woody Allen, not for any of the obvious ways they flattered his sensibility, but for something he called their tragic sense, which he compared to Chekhov's (whom Mercer knew he had not read). Here was the way he never asked Mercer about his work; the way he never talked about his own and yet seemed to carry it with him just beneath the skin; the way his skin looked in the sodium light from outside with the light off, with clothes off, in silver rain; the way he embodied qualities Mercer wanted to have, but without ruining them by wanting to have them; the way his genius overflowed its vessel, running off into the drain; the unfinished self-portrait; the hint of some trauma in his past, like the war a shell-shocked town never talks about; his terrible taste in friends; his complete lack of discipline; the inborn incapacity for certain basic things that made you want to mother him, fuck him, give your right and left arms for him, this man-child, this skinny American; and finally his wildness, his refusal to be imaginable by anyone.

Outside, beyond where the light from our window fell, there was a deep inner well. The roof in which these rooms were built dropped steeply away, and facing us across the void were other similar dormers, unlit, their windows open into shadowy stillness. Above the roofline the sky was amorously transformed by the pink glare of the London dusk.

Ooh!” Willy pipes up. “Maybe he'll write a story about Santa and Mrs. Claus getting caught with their pants down with other people. If we get lucky, maybe he'll kill-” “Don't finish that sentence, elf.” “Randy, you're such a spoilsport. You can't say you haven't conjured up that scenario in your big head a time or a dozen. Continue. Maybe I'll write that story.” “No, you won't. Your idea of a good story is nothing but sex, sex, and more sex. You'd never make it through writing a chapter because you'd have to stop and jerk off a half dozen times.” “Ew! Not about Santa and Mrs. Claus. Yuck,” Willy comes back at him with a sour look on his face. “That's not even funny, Randy.

Our one employee came warily out of the back. He was always skittish with me, and if Lizzy wasn't around, he made a point of keeping his distance. I think he was expecting me to make a pass at him. He was seventeen, had stringy black hair,bad skin, and probably weighed a buck five soaked wet. I didn't have the heart to tell him he wasn't my type.

...our witness, one Edward Littleton, was as gay as Elton John's handbag.

Paul needed to come out, not as gay or straight, but as human.

Peter to Austin: "Hard-ons don't make you think less. They make you think stupid. Which makes me think you must have one 24/7.

People talk about anal sex as though it’s the be-all and end-all of gay identity.

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

Procurar placer a una mujer es exponerte a cien sinsabores sin un solo beneficio.

Radu had been wrong all this time. He had felt guilty for the way his heart yearned for other men. But it was not his own love that was poisonous and destructive. His love destroyed nothing, hurt no one. [...] Nazira was right. His love had no evil in it.

[Reverend James] Dobson says that the [Spongebob Squarepants] video would be watched by millions of elementary school students and includes a reference to being 'tolerant of differences.' The nerve! Who does Spongebob think he is? Jesus Christ? Tolerance will not be, uh, tolerated. Oh, and tolerance is quite possibly closesly connected to gay-ance.

Raven, holding Joshua's chin, asks him how old he is. Joshua, folding in the pinky and the thumb on his left hand, while leaning on Raven's legs, raises three middle fingers into the air. "That's what I thought. You're three.

Riley paused, turning back to face Jack. "Just so you know, we are gonna need some definite PDAs tonight. Think you can handle that?" There was irritation in Riley's voice, a subtle change, a certain stress. Jack imagined it was a manifestation of fear, and it made him feel better to think that. In answer Jack moved carefully past Riley, sliding a hand over the younger man's black silk shirt, his fingers brushing Riley's left nipple. He heard a hiss of indrawn breath as his hard thigh touched Riley briefly. "I can handle anything you need, Het-boy," he said, his voice low and growled. "Just follow my cues." Riley followed him to the top of the stairs, and Jack held out his hand. "Husband?" he smirked. Riley took his hand, and they started down the sweeping staircase. "Fuck you, asshole," Riley forced out behind a covering smile. "Not if I fuck you first," Jack said, fast and clear, smirking again as Riley stumbled on the next step.

Right. Put Some coffee on while I think about this. I'm in dire need" Merrick gave him a look. "You can't work the stove, can you?" "I'm the eighth Earl Crane and the twelfth Viscount Fortunegate. I don't have to work the stove." "Two extra names and you can't lift your arms any more. Bloody lucky they didn't make you a duke too or you'd forget how to brush your own teeth.

Sadly, our culture raises man to be strong and silent. Straight or gay, the pressure is on from the time we're very young to become our culture's John Wayne-style of man. * The more pain I can take, the more of a man I am. * Showing feelings is for women. * The more I can drink, the manlier I am. * Intimacy is sex; sex is intimacy. * Only women depend on others. * A man takes care of himself without help from others. * No one can hurt you if you're strong. * I am what I earn. * It is best to keep your problems to yourself. * Winning is all that really matters. Where did this stuff come from? It's everywhere in our society from the movies heroes we love to the politicians we vote for. Our culture demands that man fit in a tightly defined role.

Ryan le pregunta a Avery acerca del pelo rosa. ㅡSí, es un color raro, ¿verdad? Para un chico que nació con aspecto de mujer y que quiere que lo vean como a un varón. Pero piénsalo un momento, solo muestra lo arbitrario que es el género. El rosa es femenino... pero ¿por qué? ¿Acaso las chicas son más rosas que los chicos? ¿Los chicos son más azules que las chicas? Es algo que nos enseñaron, principalmente para poder enseñarnos también otras cosas. Mi pelo puede ser rosa porque soy un chico. El tuyo puede ser azul porque eres una chica. Si te desprendes de toda esa mierda arbitraria con que nos controla la sociedad, te sientes más libre y, si te sientes más libre, puedes ser más feliz. ㅡMi pelo es azul porque me gusta el azul ㅡseñala Ryan. ㅡY el mío es rosa porque me gusta el rosa.

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

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 cli s 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.

Scarcely a word has been written on the fact that along with the millions whom Hitler had butchered on grounds of "race," hundreds of thousands of people were sadistically tortured to death simply for having homosexual feelings. Scarcely anyone has publicized the fact that the madness of Hitler and his gang was not directed just against the Jews, but also against us homosexuals, in both cases leading to the "final solution" of seeking the total annihilation of these human beings. May they never be forgotten, these multitudes of dead, our anonymous, immortal martyrs.

scrub oak trees. Kieran was leaning against him, pinning him to the tree, and they were kissing. Cristina hesitated a moment, blood rising into her face, but it was clear Mark wasn’t being touched against his will. Mark’s hands were tangled in Kieran’s hair, and he was kissing him as fiercely as if he were starving. Their bodies were pressed together tightly; nevertheless, Kieran clutched at Mark’s waist, his hands moving restlessly, desperately, as if he could pull Mark closer still. They slid up, pushing Mark’s jacket off his shoulders, stroking the skin at the edge of his collar. He made a low keening sound, like a cry of grief, deep in his throat, and broke away. He was staring at Mark, his gaze as hungry as it was hopeless. Never had a faerie looked so human to Cristina as Kieran did then. Mark looked back at him, eyes wide, shining in the moonlight. A shared look of love and longing and terrible sadness. It was too much. It had already been too much: Cristina knew she shouldn’t have been watching them but she hadn’t been able to stop, mingled shock and fascination rooting her to the spot. And desire. There was desire, too. Whether for Mark, or for both of them, or just for the idea of wanting someone so much, she wasn’t sure. She moved back, her heart pounding, about to pull the

Science n’ Shit in a Hip-Hop Style with Stephen Hawking (Kick-snare, kick-kick snare). ‘Let me tell you my plan for the human race, well I would but I can’t, ‘Cos I can’t move me face, So my computerised voice is how I’ll go, I type with me eye to keep the flow We’re all gonna go live in outer space Where zero gravity will stop me dribbling all over the place I’ll tell y’all how I’ll get there: With some rockets built into me special wheel chair The moons of Jupiter, in perfect animation We’ll all live in a huge space station I’ll be able to dance and chase all the fanny And finally get me end away with me nanny.’ Science n’ Shit in a Hip-Hop Style with Stephen Hawking II ‘From the moons of Ganymede, Io & Titan, I’ll tell y’all somethin’ that’s sure to enlighten In space, there are galaxies nebula & stars And dying suns that are going super no-va But no anomalies can compare, To how much I wanna run my fingers through your hair Sir Patrick Moore, a true space oracle, With your knowledge of cheats and gorgeous monocle I’m coming out as gay, and I don’t give a hoot I’m the first fuckin’ vegetable that turned into a fruit Word.

Scoot over, man. I don't like you that much." "Dick. That's not what you said last night." "Bite me.

Sex is not a wizard, whatever magical-seeming properties it might possess in its better forms. If your friend says to you, "You're being mean, you need to get laid," your problem is not sex. Your problems are that you might be acting like an asshole, and your friends are definitely idiots.

See, the institutions and specialist, experts, you see. Yes, yes, experts, indeed. See, they would have us believe that there is an order to art. An explanation. Humans are odd creatures in that way. Always searching for a formula. Yes, a formula to create an expected norm for unexplainable greatness. A cook book you might say. Yes, a recipe book for life, love, and art. However, my dear, let me tell you. Yes, there is no such thing. Every individual is unique in their own design, as intended by God himself. We classify, yes, always must we classify, for if not, then we would be lost, yes lost now wouldn't we? Classification, order, expectations, but alas, we forget. For what is art, if not the out word expression of an artist. It is the soul of the artisan and if his expectations are met, than who are we to judge whether his work be art or not?