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Drink your coffee -- people in Africa are sleeping.

Josh Lanyon

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Josh Lanyon
Drink
Sleep
People
Sleeping
Africa
Coffee

More quotes by Josh Lanyon

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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.
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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.
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I thought I recognized you. Really? He remembered me looking like Swamp Thing? How flattering.
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Not as intolerable as being dead, in my opinion, but I'm very fond of me. I would miss me a lot.
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I thought again how odd it was to be on formal terms with someone you had once permitted to lick your ears.
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Anyone who wasn't half-stoned on pain meds would have instantly realized what a really bad idea this plan was, but since that didn't include me, I didn't worry about it.
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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.
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Kevin refilled my plastic cup with more box wine. I smiled thanks. Kevin smiled welcome. Jake kicked my ankle.
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Jake's mouth found mine, his lips molding hot and soft to my own. His tongue tentatively tested the seal of my lips I parted them and he pushed inside. It was startlingly sweet and achingly familiar, like finding harbor.
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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.
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Do you still do the clubs?” Jake shakes his head. “You do the clubs because you can’t find what you need at home. I’ve got everything I need. I’ve got the answer to needs I didn’t even know I had.
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I'm a thirty-something gay man with a dodgy heart. I sell books for a living. Who wants to read about that?
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Shrugging out of the damaged shirt, Jake said roughly, “I still dream about you.” “I have nightmares about you.” I dragged my T-shirt over my head, threw it aside.
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Tiffs among the faggots were apparently the stuff of quiet merriment.
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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.
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Kit, you're forty. You look thirty. You act...well, never mind. You're carrying on like you think you're seventy
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I noticed you right away. She gave me an approving look. I like quiet, polite men. And men who wear Hugo Boss. I was hoping you weren't gay. Or that you were only half-gay. Like Paul. Uh...sorry, I said. It's pretty much full-time now. The pay's not great, but the perks...
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You're kind of a smart ass when you're not flat on your face.
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Rachel delivered it like an official pronouncement. Like she was one of the fairies gifting Sleeping Beauty's christening: Beauty. Intelligence. Heterosexual.
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I know that asshole you were with in college --” “Can we leave that asshole out of it?” Please, gentlemen, one asshole at a time.
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