Josh Lanyon Quotes - Page 2

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.

He scooped up Victoria practically before she hit the ground, well within the five-second rule. If she'd been a potato chip, he could have still eaten her. Not something I particularly wanted to contemplate.

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.

Tiffs among the faggots were apparently the stuff of quiet merriment.

I dug out the powder blue cashmere cardigan my mother Lisa gave me the Christmas before last, pulled on my oldest, softest Levi’s. Comfort clothes; the next best thing to a hug from a warm, living body. Lately there had been a shortage of hugs in my life. Lately there had been a shortage of warm, living bodies.

I never meant to get involved with you, Adrien. Rest easy; you're not.

Then, like a born and bred asshole, he added to the sheriff, "He writes murder mysteries.

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'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.

...Jake, a homosexual cop buried so deep in the closet he didn't know where to look for himself.

I’m never wrong? Who besides Republican presidents and evil masterminds can say that with a straight face?

When you live with a potentially life-threatening condition you get used to the thought of dying. You accept it, you push on. The thing that scared me was the picture of dying slowly and painfully, the loss of independence and identity to illness.

I thought I recognized you." Really? He remembered me looking like Swamp Thing? How flattering.

And why is it the best looking ones are always straight?

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.

He went through the cupboards, found the olive oil, and started upstairs again. He glanced down at the green and gold label and had to bite back a laugh at the words Extra Virgin. That about summed it up.

Sable hair bisected his pecs and arrowed down to the straight and unequivocal statement of his returned interest. Forcing my gaze to his face, I said, "I really don't think we have time for that." "You know that, and I know that, but HE doesn't believe it." "Believe it," I told HIM. J.X.'s mouth tugged into one of those heart-stopping smiles. "Maybe you should whisper in his ear.