Quotes from Josh Lanyon

This is how God made me. You are how God made you. All God's chillun are made how God made 'em. You think God made a mistake, take it up with Him.

Rachel delivered it like an official pronouncement. Like she was one of the fairies gifting Sleeping Beauty's christening: Beauty. Intelligence. Heterosexual.

Like true philosophers I've come to believe that religion is an illusion of childhood, outgrown after proper education.

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.

Hey, its not much of a closet is it?" "No. Its not. I don't like closets. Life's to short to spend hiding in the dark.

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.

Vintage books, old china, antiques; maybe I love old things so much because I feel impermanent myself.

Why can't you say it?" I hardened my voice. "Because I'm telling you, you never have. I'd have remembered." He stared at me with disbelief. [...] " Love you? Of course I love you. Baby, I fucking worship you.

A pause followed my greeting. Then "We're watching you " whispered the voice on the other end. "Yeah? Did you see what I did with my keys? " Silence. Then dial tone. These younger demons. So easily discouraged.

I liked you the first time I saw you. You were sitting on the floor surrounded by books, and you looked up when I opened the door and smiled right at me. It felt like you had been waiting for me, like you were welcoming me home.

The problem with a life spent reading is you know too much.

He never lied to me. I just didn't ask the questions I didn't want to know the answers to.

Vintage books, old china, antiques; maybe I love old things so much because I feel impermanent myself.

All cynics are disappointed idealists. The more stars in the eyes, the harder the fall.

He shifted over without comment, lifting the blankets, and I scrambled into the warm sheets beside him. He smelled like soap and sleep and bare skin. He smelled familiar. Not the deja vu familiar of Guy or Mel. Familiar like...the ache in your chest of homesickness, of longing for harbor after weeks of rough seas or craving a fire's warmth after snow--or wanting back something you should never have given away.

Drink your coffee -- people in Africa are sleeping.

People loved you in the way they knew how - and often it was not the way you knew. Or needed.

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.

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.

You were the first in every way that counted.

I thought again how odd it was to be on formal terms with someone you had once permitted to lick your ears.

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

You know that thing about Death Be Not Proud? Well, Fear Be Not Proud either. And Fear Be Not Elegant. What Fear be is stumbling, bumbling flight, crashing through brush, slip-sliding on pine needles, sloshing through puddles that are always deeper than you expect.

You couldn't hurt a fly." Actually I was pretty good at pinging flies right out of the air, but I tried to look appropriately harmless.