You're kind of a smart ass when you're not flat on your face.
I thought of the words of the Renaissance philosopher Michel de Montaigne. "If you press me to say why I loved him, I can say no more than because he was he, and I was I.
I think it was Mark Twain who said, “Get your facts straight, and then you can distort them as much as you like.
The battle rages eternal, though the race, religion, gender or sexual orientation of those discriminated against changes regularly. Maybe man’s need for a scapegoat is genetically programmed into him.
He needed fresh air and sunshine. A walk in the woods and afterward a good book to read by the fire. Yeah, that was the life.
I want people to react to my work, to think, to question, to challenge, to cry and laugh and feel.
I'm not insane. This is very simple, very straightforward. Provided he doesn't kill me, its foolproof.
Kevin refilled my plastic cup with more box wine. I smiled thanks. Kevin smiled welcome. Jake kicked my ankle.
The only thing worse than opera is someone who hums along with opera.
Then, like a born and bred asshole, he added to the sheriff, "He writes murder mysteries.
...Jake, a homosexual cop buried so deep in the closet he didn't know where to look for himself.
Love... doesn't happen every day. It doesn't happen at all for some people
Adrien, people get killed all the time. Since when is it your job to find out what happened to them?" "I'm not usually suspected of murdering them." "You have been as long as I've known you.
I never meant to get involved with you, Adrien. Rest easy; you're not.
Tiffs among the faggots were apparently the stuff of quiet merriment.
I thought I recognized you." Really? He remembered me looking like Swamp Thing? How flattering.
Kit, you're forty. You look thirty. You act...well, never mind. You're carrying on like you think you're seventy
I hadn't liked him at first. He did sort of grow on you after a while. Like the cosmopolitans. Or maybe because of the cosmopolitans.
I'm a thirty-something gay man with a dodgy heart. I sell books for a living. Who wants to read about that?
He was probably selfish in the sack. Probably selfish and greedy and...unsophisticated. And hung like a horse.
And I thought maybe I didn't need to worry about my heart anymore because it had stopped beating a couple of seconds earlier, and I was still sitting there living and breathing-though admittedly I wasn't feeling much of anything.
Focus on someone else’s problems for a change, I instructed myself. You need the practice. From now on you’ll have to live in a world you didn’t make up. Horrible thought.
Have I ever told you, you look like Monty Clift? he inquired in a deep, seductive voice. Before or after the accident?
Vintage books, old china, antiques; maybe I love old things so much because I feel impermanent myself.
Drink your coffee -- people in Africa are sleeping.
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