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But I'm rambling. That's why I never do anything – because I ramble on to myself like that. Or perhaps it's the other way round; I ramble because I never do anything.
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“Stay with me.’ His eyes shone. ‘Play with me.”
― Exquisite Corpse
― Exquisite Corpse
“... We were just having a talk about homosexuality."
"He is frightfully interested in that at the moment, although he can't have the least idea what it is - can he? It must be the effect of his overbearing and possessive mum. Odd what little children get up to; I was a committed transvestite at his age. But that seemed to get it out of the system," he added hastily.”
― The Swimming-Pool Library
"He is frightfully interested in that at the moment, although he can't have the least idea what it is - can he? It must be the effect of his overbearing and possessive mum. Odd what little children get up to; I was a committed transvestite at his age. But that seemed to get it out of the system," he added hastily.”
― The Swimming-Pool Library
“Never relinquish your terrors. That's when they catch you.”
― Exquisite Corpse
― Exquisite Corpse
“I mean," Rupert looked up at me cogiatively, "almost everyone is a homosexual, aren't they? Boys, I mean."
"I sometimes think so," I hedged.
"Is Grandpa one?"
"Good heavens, no," I protested.
"Am I one?"Rupert asked intently.
"It's a bit early to say yet, old fellow. But you could be, you know."
"Goody!" he squealed, banging his heels against the front of the sofa again. "Then I can come and live with you.”
― The Swimming-Pool Library
"I sometimes think so," I hedged.
"Is Grandpa one?"
"Good heavens, no," I protested.
"Am I one?"Rupert asked intently.
"It's a bit early to say yet, old fellow. But you could be, you know."
"Goody!" he squealed, banging his heels against the front of the sofa again. "Then I can come and live with you.”
― The Swimming-Pool Library
“One day he and Sutcliffe were walking down Madison Avenue when a man they knew came up and told them a mutual friend had just died in San Francisco. “Of it?” they gasped. “No,” the man said, “he was run over by a taxicab.” “Oh, thank God!” They both said in unison. That was where AIDS stood in the hierarchy of misfortune, somehow; in a class by itself—so grim its aura extended to the fact, he thinks as he enters the nursing home, that people who don’t have AIDS imagine somehow they’re not going to die.”
― The Beauty of Men
― The Beauty of Men
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