Best 2888 quotes in «gay quotes» category

  • By Anonym

    But in the midst of this decaying, burning city, there are pockets of hope. It can be found in the tiny dark rooms in underground bars, where women with short hair cheer on men in dresses. It can be felt in abandoned cinemas where anonymous strangers fall in love if only for a few moments, and in the living rooms where families crowd around, drinking sweet black tea and Skyping their homesick relatives so that together they can watch the long, rambling talk shows that go on all night.

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    But thats their image of us so we stay tense, holding our breath, hoping we wont be found out. - about being gay from the film Love My Life

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    But I think we both knew, even then, that what we had was something even more rare, and even more meaningful. I was going to be his friend, and was going to show him possibilities. And he, in turn, would become someone I could trust more than myself.

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    But what if Cam asks something harder, like why I didn’t come out earlier? Well, you see, Cam, I'm a pathetic loser and it took me over six years to say two little words. I feel utterly stupid every time I think about it. I know they’ll change everything, but they're still just words, and it is the twenty-first century, not the dark ages. That doesn’t seem to matter though. I'm still afraid that Cam and every other person in the world will start seeing me differently even though I'm still just me.

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    But Malone was thinking now and as he watched the men lighting cigarettes for each other in the dark, having sex beneath the trees, he turned to his friend and said in a wondering voice: “Isn’t it strange that when we fall in love, this great dream we have, this extraordinary disease, the only thing in which either one of us is interested, it’s inevitably with some perfectly ordinary drip who for some reason we cannot define is the magic bearer, the magician, the one who brings all this to us. Why?

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    But you should know that about Dauntless- girl, guy, whatever, it doesn't matter here. What matters is what you've got in your gut.

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    Bye bye binary. For gender, for sexuality, for everything. ... Lots of people can like lots of people. And could everyone please get over it and update their idea of normal.

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    Can you imagine, somebody telling you, your love for your dearly beloved is a sin! Can you imagine, somebody telling you, women are inferior to men, and are meant only serve the men! Can you imagine, somebody telling you, a man can have multiple wives, and yet be deemed civilized! Here that somebody is a fundamentalist ape - a theoretical pest from the stone-age, that somehow managed to survive even amidst all the rise of reasoning and intellect.

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    Can you be gay or transgender and Christian? The answer is yes.

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    Chocolate makes everything better, in the end,” he announced, and Thayer fully agreed. Thayer gave him a smile of gratitude and watched Castel lift his spoon from the saucer. He dipped it, gracefully, into his coffee and gave it a light stir. “Too many people rush to stir such delicate flavours. Take too long and they will clog together to become a lump of bitterness in your coffee. But take your time and be gentle with them,” Castel explained, quietly, “and they will create a symphony of flavours, to melt in your mouth,” he said, leaning down, just until his nose was over his cup, to take a long inhale. He smiled and straightened, extracting the spoon to place it back on his saucer. “Now try it.” Thayer took a sip and almost felt his toes curl at the luxurious taste. ~ Cinnamon Kiss

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    Consoling and yet absurd, how the sexual imagination took such easy possession of the ungiving world. I was certainly not alone in this carriage in sliding my thoughts between the legs of other passengers. Desires, brutal or tender, silent but evolved, were in the shiftless air, and hung about each jaded traveller, whose life was not as good as it might have been.

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    Cormag caught his hand and pulled him back until they were facing each other. “I think you're amazing,” he said, blurting the words out. Lachlan smiled, completely shocked and thrilled by how captivating he found him. He had never thought this could happen to him, that he would be attracted to another boy. He thought he knew himself so well. “I think you're smart, sexy, funny as hell. You have hidden depths, Lachlan. You only need the right person to coax you out of your protective shell,” he claimed. “Are you the right person?” Lachlan wondered, as he took a half step forward. Cormag took a deep breath and brushed at a strand of hair that was sticking out at a funny angle from behind the top of his ear. He tugged at his short hair every time he talked about his recent break up. He was such a dork.

  • By Anonym

    Dammit, it should be easy to come out. I mean, Mom and Dad aren't a problem. I'm not worried they'll disown me or tell me some crap like I'm going to hell or take away my stuff. I'm just afraid they'll look at me differently. I don't know, like I'll be their gay son Noah instead of just Noah. I just want to be Noah Andrews, the simple, slightly nerdy, socially awkward guy, minus the big-ass secret.

  • By Anonym

    Charlie smiled. ‘Actually, right now I feel like venting; maybe seeing how loud I can make the speakers in the gym and doing a workout of some kind. Does the hotel have music?’ ‘Um, pass?’ ‘You haven’t tried? Dude! Sort the shit. Hey, Valles?’ ‘Hello.’ ‘Play Queen.’ ‘Disambiguation. One: Play the Queen: Act like a queen: female monarch. Subjects needed. Two: Play the Queen: Act like a queen: a person with excessive emotional outbursts. Setting demanded. Three: Play music related to “Queen”: Playqueen: New Zealander electropop group. 2040s. Four. Play music related to...’ ‘British rock band. 1980s.’ ‘Album, or track?’ ‘I Want to Break Free.

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    Chomie' is South African homosexual men’s unofficial name.

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    Clay sat up, swinging a leg over Jeff's body to straddle him. He grabbed both wrists and pinned them by Jeff's head, bending closer until they shared a breath between parted lips. "There's something about you, Jeff. Always something." "I'm just an ordinary guy --" Jeff stopped when Clay shook his head vigorously. "You're not. You're special." "Special how?" "You taste good.

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    Cunningham himself said in an interview in Poz that he couldn’t help noticing that as soon as he wrote a novel without a blowjob, they gave him the Pulitzer Prize.

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    Day leveled Ronowski with a stern glare. “Ronowski, you are gay, man. You’re tightly closeted. But you are indeed gay, ultra-gay. You’re fuckin’ Marvin Gay. You crash landed on Earth when your gay planet exploded.” Day moved away from God and stood in front of an openmouthed Ronowski. “Come out of the closet already. It’s so bright and wonderful out here. Dude, I’ve seen Brokeback Mountain too, don’t believe that bullshit. No one cares who you fuck…ya know…like you tell me every. Single. Day. Of. My. Life,” Day said exaggeratedly.

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    Dear Hope, I NEVER thought Id see the day when two of your daily e-mails sandwiched a message from none other than PAUL PARLIPIANO. My crush to end all crushes! Gay man of my dreams! OOOH!

  • By Anonym

    Danny and I were sposed to go to his mother's house for Thanksgiving. Now what? What do I tell his mother? Well, not this. Mothers hate it when you tell them their sons are queer.

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    Despite their exhaustion and worries, Miner and Ennek made love that night, tracing fingers and tongues over one another's marks and scars. Their bodies were like books, Ennek thought, and their stories could be read inch by inch. He hoped fervently for happy endings.

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    Did I just create Ben/Jason slash fiction? Do people care enough about me to even write Ben/Jason slash fiction? Do I get royalty checks for slash fiction? Probably not.

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    Dan: 'Ah, well, I hope this didn't have anything to do with me.' Ellen: 'No, not unless you played Cat Woman in Batman.

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    Déjame estar triste, es la única forma que conozco de estrujar la felicidad para que después no me pene.

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    Dear Josh, we stopped by to fuck you but you didn't answer the door. Therefore you are gay. Sincerely, Tiffany and Amber.

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    Do you like my brother?" And there goes Dan's confidence. He keeps his eyes resolutely on the field. "Uh... yes? I mean... I think everyone likes your brother, don't they?" She leans over and gives him a little hip check. "No, you know what I mean. Do you /like/ him?" Dan just states out at the horses, hoping that one of them will do something, anything, to distract this girl from her question. But the horses just keep grazing and Tat continues. "'Cause he likes you. I mean, he likes Jeff, too, but... you can like two people at once, right?" "Uh... yes? I think you can like two people at once." "Yeah. I know it's none of my business or whatever, but... I just wanted to make sure you know... if you like him, that's cool with me. I mean, I like Jeff too, but... you know." Dan has a brief moment of wanting to shake her. No, he /doesn't/ know. Is everything really so clear to everyone but him? Is he just adding extra complications where they don't need to be? Then he remembers that he's talking to a fifteen-year-old girl. Maybe she shouldn't be the arbiter of what's simple or complicated. He realizes that she's still waiting for a response from him. "Okay, well... thanks for letting me know." "Are you guys going to, like... date?" "Sweet Jesus, Tat, I don't know!" Possibly that's a bit of an overreaction, but she looks more amused than upset. "All right, all right...." She gets a mischievous look in her eyes.

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    Dont come for me!.... I didn't send for you!

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    During those snowy New England winters, besides learning to rise at five to study calculus and trudge two miles through the drifts for breakfast down the road, he had suppressed some tremendous element in himself that took form in a prudish virginity. While his life was impeccable on the surface, he felt he was behind glass: moving through the world in a separate compartment, touching no one else.

  • By Anonym

    Do you know how many men are incarcerated in solitary confinement? About 100,000 on any given day, if my numbers are correct. Do you know how many men commit suicide in The Hole? Very high. Twenty-four hours in a box with no windows can break a man. Some more quickly than others.

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    Do you think, for a moment," she whispered, "that I would have done anything differently? That I could have chosen anything but this, now?" Her dark eyes were alive, bright, shining. "I would suffer any lie, Persephone, for you.

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    D stared out the window, shoving down the feeling that it might be real nice to sit here and tell Jack Francisco everything about himself, confess things he'd never told nobody, just to feel like somebody cared, and to keep those big blue eyes fixed on him for as long as he could.

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    Do you mind if I ask you a personal question?" "Not at all. Shoot-" "Do you have butt implants?

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    Either way, you were connected. By your desires. By your defiance. By the simple, complicated fact of who you were.

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    Dutton, the home of Winnie the Pooh, would find a second identity as a home for gay fiction.

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    Either you are homophobic or you are a human - you cannot be both.

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    El amor no tiene género, la compasión no tiene religión, el carácter no tiene raza

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    Even after six years, he was still turned on by the bastard, still desperate to kiss his lips and see how it felt to kiss him into submission, until he saw him as more than a loser geek. He wanted to taste his tongue, to touch his abs and stroke his cock; do all the things that it was so wrong to want to do to him. Wrong because of Ben, because of his love for Ben, because he barely knew Jaxton, back then and now. What the hell was wrong with him?

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    Everybody is Other in Maupin.

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    Esta marica desgraciada que se refugia en la parcela de poder que le queda a su alcance (porque es rica, porque ha triunfado con el taxi, porque ha heredado, porque se ha comprado un piso, porque es funcionaria, porque se ha enchufado en un partido) ya está presta, dispuesta y lista para oprimir a todas las maricas que no sean como ella, que no hayan tenido su suerte o su capacidad de trabajo, que no hayan sufrido su síndrome olímpico. Y no le importará discriminarlas, gasearlas, despreciarlas en virtud de su pertenencia a una mayoría opresora (militar, universitaria, católica, rica, aristocrática, propietaria). Además, hará responsables a todas las lesbis, trans y plumeras de un fracaso que ellas mismas se han buscado: hará de la pobreza, de la precariedad, del desempleo de sus congéneres desviadas una consecuencia de sus vidas desordenadas, ociosas, irresponsables. ¿Por qué, si ella es marica y ha triunfado, va a tener que solidarizarse y preocuparse por las maricas que no lo han conseguido, cuando ella misma es la prueba de que es posible hacerlo? Y seguramente acabe votando a la derecha para que conserve sus grandes logros unipersonales, que no está dispuesta a compartir con nadie.

    • gay quotes
  • By Anonym

    Evan nuzzled his chin into the crook of Dan's neck, finding the spot that always made Dan squirm and laugh. "I love you, Danny." "You gets so fucking sappy after I let you top," Dan responded, but he didn't move away. "We should stick a spigot in you, drain it out, and boil up some maple syrup." "You stick your spigot in me, I wouldn't be the one topping anymore." "Nice. You freak." "You're the one who wanted to make maple syrup out of my sappiness," Evan protested...

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    Everyone’s assumption is for women and men to be together, and yet here we are, human girls, the Demon King’s concubines. Surely love between two women wouldn’t be so strange?

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    Father André turns cherry-red, I’ve socked him below the belt, but he handles it and holds up, speaking in a quiet, confident voice. “I didn’t choose this. He created me this way. He made me as a homosexual.” “What for? Was he feeling bored?” “So that I would come to Him. So that I would serve Him.” “Why, you don’t even have any right to serve! You’re a sinner! Your god created you a sinner! What for?” “So that I would always be guilty. Always guilty, no matter what I did.” “Wonderful!

  • By Anonym

    Father Brendan Flynn: "A woman was gossiping with her friend about a man whom they hardly knew - I know none of you have ever done this. That night, she had a dream: a great hand appeared over her and pointed down on her. She was immediately seized with an overwhelming sense of guilt. The next day she went to confession. She got the old parish priest, Father O' Rourke, and she told him the whole thing. 'Is gossiping a sin?' she asked the old man. 'Was that God All Mighty's hand pointing down at me? Should I ask for your absolution? Father, have I done something wrong?' 'Yes,' Father O' Rourke answered her. 'Yes, you ignorant, badly-brought-up female. You have blamed false witness on your neighbor. You played fast and loose with his reputation, and you should be heartily ashamed.' So, the woman said she was sorry, and asked for forgiveness. 'Not so fast,' says O' Rourke. 'I want you to go home, take a pillow upon your roof, cut it open with a knife, and return here to me.' So, the woman went home: took a pillow off her bed, a knife from the drawer, went up the fire escape to her roof, and stabbed the pillow. Then she went back to the old parish priest as instructed. 'Did you gut the pillow with a knife?' he says. 'Yes, Father.' 'And what were the results?' 'Feathers,' she said. 'Feathers?' he repeated. 'Feathers; everywhere, Father.' 'Now I want you to go back and gather up every last feather that flew out onto the wind,' 'Well,' she said, 'it can't be done. I don't know where they went. The wind took them all over.' 'And that,' said Father O' Rourke, 'is gossip!

  • By Anonym

    Explanations of straight men's homosexual behavior take the awkwardness, shame, and ambivalence attached to these encounters as evidence of discordance between self and behavior, forgetting that these affectations characterize the terrain of sexuality more broadly. For example, among the many costs of sexism is that sex is often utterly scripted and unsatisfying for straight women, and yet straight women's sexual dissatisfaction is rarely taken as evidence that they are acting out of accordance with their heterosexual orientation.

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    Fin da piccole sapevano quanto poco valore il mondo attribuisse ai libri, e non perdevano tempo a leggerli. Mentre io, anche adesso, continuo a credere che quei puntini neri su fondo bianco abbiano il più alto dei significati, che se insisto a scrivere potrò cogliere l'arcobaleno della coscienza e rinchiuderlo in un barattolo.

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    Fidelity is a living, breathing entity. On wobbly footing, it can wander, becoming something different entirely.

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    Fear is the intended result of codifying homophobia into law.

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    For the fact was drugs were not necessary to most of us, because the music, youth, sweaty bodies were enough. And if it was too hot, too humid to sleep the next day, and we awoke bathed in sweat, it did not matter: We remained in a state of animated suspension the whole hot day. We lived for music, we lived for Beauty, and we were poor. But we didn’t care where we were living, or what we had to do during the day to make it possible; eventually, if you waited long enough, you were finally standing before the mirror in that cheap room, looking at your face one last time, like an actor going onstage, before rushing out to walk in the door of that discotheque and see someone like Malone.

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    For the first time in his life he understood why the Bible called sex "knowing". Everything was different. Now he knew Dante. He'd known Dante. And wonder of wonders, Dante had known him right back.

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    For that is the curious quality of the discotheque after you have gone there a long time: in the midst of all the lights, and music, the bodies, the dancing, the drugs, you are stiller than still within, and though you go through the motions of dancing you are thinking a thousand disparate things. You find yourself listening to the lyrics, and you wonder what these people around you are doing. They seemed crazed to you. You stand there on a floor moving your hips, wondering if there is such a thing as love, and conscious for the very first time that it is three-twenty-five and the night only half-over. You put the popper to your nostril, you put a hand out to lightly touch the sweaty, rigid stomach of the man dancing next to you, your own chest is streaming with sweat in that hot room, and you are thinking, as grave as a judge: What will I do with my life? What can any man do with his life? And you finally don’t know where to rest your eyes. You don’t know where to look, as you dance. You have been expelled from the communion of the saints.