Do you even know what gay stands for? Well, let me tell you. G-A-Y. Got Aids yet?
Soon would come the night in which there was no more work – not the work of the hands, nor the work of the mind, nor the work of the heart.
Her heart, she had discovered in the last half year, was of durable stuff. You could test its mettle with a hammer.
Still, the illusion of love had, in its time, led to stranger depravities.
And now none of it could be undone. That was the exquisite irony: the act that had undone everything could not itself be undone.
Just because you pretend the universe doesn't have teeth doesn't mean you won't get eaten in the end.
Was it a form of madness, no longer to be able to trust your sense of things? To be betrayed by decisions apparently arrived at carefully and through reason, but really no more than marauding appetites cunningly tricked out as reasonable choices?
Waiting, he thought, was the most miserable condition a man could find himself in. His whole life, he had been waiting for one thing or another.
But men are such strange creatures, really. I think most of them would rather we weren’t around at all, so they could just spend time mooning over each other. Hero worship and all that stuff.
When you get right down to it, we don’t ever want to know one another too well. We want there to be that mystery. Where there’s mystery, there’s hope.
The past is the past. It’s the present we should worry about.
Louis could never shake the suspicion that some people, whether consciously or not, called the storm to themselves.
What bound people together was so fragile.
People always had one kind of animal or another inside them.
People always knew more than you gave them credit for. Perhaps, in the end, no one had any secrets at all.
If certain places you came to in life felt right, then how many others were just as clearly the wrong place to be?
Absolutely, love matters,” she reiterated. “We forget that at our own risk.
Louis thought he would be all for a back-to-the-basics drive in education: a teacher, an olive tree, a bit of midday wine (the Greeks had watered theirs down to keep their heads lucid), and, last but not least, six or seven eager and receptive youths...
Were archaeologists really such a sex-starved lot as all that? Did pigs really sweat?
Tracy had never been so conscious of the sky above the earth, the dangerous clouds that gathered there, the way humans lived beneath such grandeur and threat every moment of their lives.
Was this what was called falling in love, this wayward glimpse of another person’s soul?
