Best 2888 quotes in «gay quotes» category

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.

«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 sometimes talked about how liking girls is political and revolutionary and counter-cultural, all these names and terms that I didn’t even know that I was supposed to know, and a bunch of other things I didn’t really understand and I’m not sure that she did then, either—though she’d never have let on. I hadn’t ever really thought about any of that stuff. I just liked girls because I couldn’t help not to. I’d certainly never considered that someday my feelings might grant me access to a community of like-minded women.

She's that bad boy you want, but in a girl who believes in recycling. Freud described the kinds of feelings I had for Amy as loving the same person twice, as a woman and as a man.

She smiled, took my hand, and led me upstairs to her bedroom. An elderly cat with gray curly fur used a set of cat stairs to join us on the bed.

she was lying to him.” “But she is lying to him. You are lying to him aren't you?” Darren asked as he turned to me. “Of course!” “But the priest didn't know she was lying. Afterward, Moira had to chase Jacobi down to tell him the truth and then he hit her.” “He hit you?!” “Just in the arm. And even though it was supposed to be a hit it felt more like a love tap.” “You guys! Y'all are making me skip over the best part!” “Right, the part where Moira is doomed to burn in hell. I almost forgot. Go ahead,” Darren encouraged.

Shifting my weight and readjusting my stance, I'm eventually able to do like he wants, floating up and down in the palms of his hands. "That's it-" he said. I ask if this is how he and Frieda do it. Laughing, he nods his head no. "Why NOT?" "Because-- unlike YOU- she's not very FOND of getting corn-holed.

Shut up. Take down your pants. I'm going to mark you as mine." Nick squeaked and held onto his belt, fighting Damian for possession of it. "Here? Everyone will hear. They'll know!" "I want them to know," Damian said, winning the wrestling match for the belt as was inevitable that he would. "London!" Nick gasped. "London!" Damian stopped, his eyes clearing as he noticed how terrified Nick looked. After a long minute, he pulled him into a hug. "I'm sorry, baby. I didn't mean to scare you. I thought you'd like it.

Slowly, but steadily, my feelings did start to change- feelings about myself as a woman and feelings about what sexuality really is and what it really isn't. I -like most everyone who identified as gay or lesbian -felt very comfortable, very at home in mu body in my lesbianism. One doesn't repent for a sin of identity in one session. Sins of identity have multiple dimensions, and throughout this journey, I have come to my pastor and his wife, friends in the Lord, and always to the Lord himself with different facets of my sin. I don't mean different incidents or examples of the same sin, but different facets of sin -how pride, for example, informed my decision-making, or how my unwillingness to forgive others had landlocked my heart in bitterness. I have walked this journey with help. There is no other way to do it I still walk this journey with help.

So basically,” Calvin said, “this is My Fair Lady in a walk-up on West Twenty-Second Street with no music and no Julie Andrews.

So how long have you been together? Two months?' 'Five.' 'Five? Jesus, Steve, you might as well get married. I should buy a hat.' 'Don't. They give away your Spock ears.' She laughed. 'This is the Romanian girl?' 'Croatian.' 'Right. She's a painter?' 'Photographer.' 'Right.' She studied him. 'What?' he laughed self-consciously as though he was a twelve-year-old boy who'd just been caught with his first girlfriend. 'Nothing.' 'Come on.' 'I don't know Steve,' she cut into her meat, 'you've changed. You no longer write about Victoria Beckham and you have a girlfriend. I think...' 'You think what?' 'I don't know, I might be jumping the gun here, but I think there's a possibility you might not be gay after all.' A chip was hurled at her head.

So he slips his head off of Jeff's shoulder and slides out from under Evan's Armand shuffles down to the bottom of the bed. It doesn't have a lot of dignity this part of their sleeping arrangement. He's complained about this before but Jeff just nodded, and Evan had kissed the back of his neck, and they'd both snuggled in a little tighter, pinning him in the middle even more effectively than before.

Sometimes, in a thunderstorm, a lance of white fire would spear down from heaven and split the stone heart of an ancient tree, a crack so deep it seemed to come from the core of the earth. You could feel the skin of the world tense against it. Robin's kiss felt like that.

Some men became fathers mainly to show that they are not gay. Some, only to hide the fact that they are.

Sometimes coming out isn't about us. It's not fair that we have to carry the emotional burden of sharing our secret and making sure the person we're coming out to is okay, but we make concessions for the people we care about. Besides, I may have run the scenarios for this conversation but my mom had been running scenarios about my entire life since the day she had learned she was pregnant with me.

So why do it?,’ he challenged. ‘Why return to biological when a quantum existence can empower you to overcome general relativity and become interstellar, intergalactic, intersupercluster, inter-whateverthef*ckyoulike?’ ‘Because once you’ve seen one Laniakea you’ve seen them all? I don’t know. Any number of reasons! Lament? They prefer squishy? The sex is better?

Sono immune alla malia vampirica, e se sa chi sono, saprà anche che non può piegare la mia volontà e trattarmi come un burattino, ma comunque, riesce a raggiungere la mia mente con la sua, che si dilata a sfiorare i miei sensi e sento la sua voce profonda nella testa, come una carezza vellutata, sensuale. È un nome, il nome di qualcuno. Il suo nome. “Dillo.” “Romeo…” sussurro e il sorriso si allarga sul suo volto pallido, scoprendo i canini.

Terror doesn't change people from gay to straight. It just hurts innocent people.

Take this fucking thing off me!" he demanded. "Good morning to you too, Nick," Damian said mildly. He unlocked the door without haste and went to his office, Nick dogging his every footstep. "Did you --?" "I didn't touch it or myself. Take it off right now!" Nick said angrily. Damian sat down and motioned Nick closer. "We're going to have to have a talk about topping from the bottom. I don't allow that, pet.

Tam let his hand drop to his neck and slowly circled his fingers around it. It was a free, gentle touch and Casen knew that if he asked him not to, he would remove his hand and nothing would change. He couldn't get the words out; it wasn't the touch he had a problem with, it was the far away look in Tam's eyes that said he wasn't in the room anymore. The look that suggested he was lying on the ground, as the rain fell in buckets and a stranger knelt over him, trying to keep him awake. Casen blinked and looked away, as the urge to cry for that lost look threatened.

Tam looked scared, swallowing and wrapping his hands around Casen's. He slowly cupped his wrists and pulled his hands away. Then he turned to the door and unlocked it. Casen expected to have it shut in his face or be told that he'd crossed a line. After all, he didn't know Tam and he'd stupidly given him an ultimatum after meeting just a few hours ago. What had he been thinking? “Are you coming in?” Tam asked quietly, staring at his hands as he twirled his key. Casen crossed the threshold and reminded himself he was lucky; he could so easily have been turned away. Yet, when he turned to apologise for presuming too much, Tam was right in front of him and the door was closed. Before he could ask what was running through his head, Tam cupped his face, lightly caressing his cheek. It was soft and tender, identical to the look in his eyes. It was too much; Casen closed his eyes and leaned into the touch, tentatively raising his own hand to hold Tam there. It wasn't a kiss, but it was damned close.

That a man’s partner and exes are all female does not necessarily mean that he is straight.

Stupid arbitrary shit means it will take a movie star to die and a hemophiliac teenager to die before ordinary people start to mobilize, start to feel that the disease needs to be stopped. Tens of thousands of people will die before drugs are made and drugs are approved. What a horrible feeling that is, to know that if the disease had primarily affected PTA presidents, or priests, or white teenage girls, the epidemic would have been ended years earlier, and tens of thousands, if not hundreds of thousands, of lives would have been saved

Swag is not something you wear, it is something you are born with.

Tam let out a ragged breath, as he fought to reign his emotions back, while the realisation sank in. He was nothing. To Konnor. To Giovanni. To everyone. He was invisible.

Tell me something good about your life," I whispered, needing to hear that he wasn't as broken as I thought him to be. Peter breathed into the handset for about two minutes. I began wondering if he was about to hang up, or had fallen asleep, when he answered. "You." It was so quiet I almost didn't hear it. And then he hung up before I could ask him to repeat himself. I fell asleep, grinning, with the phone still clutched in my hand and my milk souring on the coffee table.

That's just like the manual says," said Witherwax. "If we want to have international brotherhood, we gotta get a language that everybody understands all the time." "You mean with no homonyms?" said Doc Brenner. Mr. Gross belched again, and held up two fingers to indicate another Boilermaker. "Are you saying that the language a fella speaks can make a fairy of him?" ("Gin Comes In Bottles")

The city was new again, and newly dangerous, and I would walk the streets quickly, eyes averted from those of passersby, like a spy in the employ of lust and happiness, carrying the secret deep within me but always on the tip of my tongue.

The Church's obsession with sexual restrictions is and always has been wrong wrong wrong. Wrong to be contemptuous of naïve young women like Philomena and me. Wrong to ignore the men involved in creating "illegitimate" children. Wrong to demonize gays while knowing full well how many men and women of the Church are gay. Wrong to excuse and hide criminal priests, transferring them to new, unsuspecting parishes. Wrong to think that forbidding consensual human sexuality is more important than Christ's message of compassion and forgiveness.

The conservative ideology sees LGBT rights as an affront to the traditional way of life, for some reason. We are attacked as phonies, pretenders, even perverts, just for being who we are. There are people who wish for us to go back into the shadows, the closet, never to return. Many of these people who wish to deny us our very legitimacy, who denounce us as mentally ill deviants, spend an hour each week paying homage to an ever-present, yet non-interventionist man in the sky. They go to courts across the land to defend their right to praise that uncorroborated deity at the expense of other people’s civil liberties. To them, we the living, the transgender people who walk the earth, are fake, but the man up there, He is real.

The gay revolution began as a literary revolution.

The damaging part of learning to live your life in two parts , whether in reality or fantasy, cannot be underestimated. It is an infectious skill that you learned, one that would eventually spread beyond the bedroom of your life. Life wasn't ever what it seemed on the surface. Nothing could be trusted for what it appeared to be. After all, you weren't what you appeared to be. In learning to hide part of yourself, you lost the ability to trust anything or anyone fully. Without knowing it, you traded humane innocence for dry cynicism.

The eye of youth is very observant. Youth has its moments of keen intuition, even normal youth -- but the intuition of those who stand mi-way between the sexes is so ruthless, so poignant, so deadly, as to be in the nature of an added scourge...

The Flight of Providence To do what is right, we try Against the odds, we try You are not like us, they say Stand down We fight, and only God knows For our right to exist For the truth We are manifest for this hour We will not be silent You are not like us, they say Stand down We fight, and only God knows For our right to try For our right to know We are the human race We will not be silent You are not like us, they say Stand down We fight, and only God knows For the truth For our future We are brilliant shades of light We cannot be contained

The Gay' is not infectious, the world is not coming to an end, and people are happy. Gosh, how about that.

The great liberal betrayal of this generation is that in the name of liberalism, communal rights have been prioritized over individual autonomy within minority groups. And minorities within minorities really do suffer because of this betrayal. The people I really worry about when we have this conversation are feminist Muslims, gay Muslims, ex-Muslims—all the vulnerable and bullied individuals who are not just stigmatized but in many cases violently assaulted or killed merely for being against the norm.

The historical record demonstrates that, on the contrary, many homosexuals chose heterosexuality and failed to maintain it because choice is less powerful than destiny.

The knife will only hurt for a moment. Then your choice will be made, and it will all be over.

The longest piece of literature I've read lately was a tattoo on this biker I picked up last night. It said, If you're this close, you've gotta suck it.

The longer you sit with some shit, the harder it is to talk about

The main goal here is to make ourselves “familiar enough” to straight people to win their acceptance. But why should that be of paramount importance? Precisely why would we want to do ourselves over in their image? To become more like them would be to forget our own singular history and the special insights and perspectives that derive from it, giving us, as spies in the culture, a unique perspective for evaluating and critiquing aspects of mainstream culture.

The Mafia’s involvement with gay bars is ironic on so many levels. Macho guys ruled gangland but supported a subculture for nelly queens. Most mobsters were evil sociopaths motivated only by financial self-interest but nevertheless were doing a good thing in providing social spaces for the gay community. The mob was on the wrong side of the liquor laws by serving gay folk but on the right side of the 14th Amendment in arguing for equal protection. The Mafia exploited an oppressed community but advanced the gay cause.

The more I thought about it, the more I began to grasp the fact that I was being offered a life changing opportunity. A chance to experience something which few people ever even thought about let alone embraced. ‘It will be an adventure,’ she said calmly. ‘For all of us.

The mirror of life shows you woman or man, But in the heart of the Soul you are neither. This is why Love is blind.

The more beautiful the sky, the more hopeless the neighborhood.

The Perfect Man. The perfect man is gentle, Never cruel or mean. He has an beautiful smile, And keeps his face so clean. The perfect man likes children, And will raise them by your side. He will be a good father, As well as an good husband to his bride. The perfect man loves cooking , Cleaning and vacuuming too. He will do anything in his power, To convey his feelings of love on you. The perfect man is sweet , Writing poetry from your name. He's an best freind to your mother, And kisses away your pain. He has never made you cry, Or hurt you in any way. Oh f*** this stupid poem, The perfect man is GAY!

[The new camp commander's] first order was that our pink triangles should be replaced by new ones that were almost double in size. And over the triangle a yellow stripe would be sewn, 2 centimeters wide and 12 centimeters long. "That's so I can recognize you filthy queer scum before you get close," he explained with a nasty smile.

The only thing fairytales have taught us is the slipper doesn't always fit, the kiss won't always wake you, and the prince won't always fight for you. However, one thing that rings true, the apple will ALWAYS be poisoned.

The pending brahpocalypse/ coup d'état - whatever it was - was much more important than whether a donut-eating Police Officer saw a flying saucer over a gay club or not." - Red Gods Sing.

The point is that we are not doomed because we are homosexual, my dear, we are doomed only if we live in despair because of it, as we did on the beaches and the streets of Suck City.