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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.

Josh Lanyon

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Josh Lanyon
Presses
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Loved
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Montaigne
Michel
Renaissance
Philosopher

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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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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.
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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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I know you've all heard the advice, Show, don't tell. The best writers don't tell you, and quite frankly they don't just show you -- they make you feel it, live it, taste it, touch it. Storytelling is about being in the moment with the characters.
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I’m not going to let go of you. I’m going to hold you all night. So go ahead and feel whatever you feel. If you’re still craving cocaine, go ahead. You’re safe. You can crave it all you want, but I won’t let go, and if you still feel like you can’t trust yourself in the morning, and it’s what you want, I’ll drive you to rehab myself. Okay? ~ Max
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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.
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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.
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To find them all in one package...well, perhaps better not to dwell on his package in my fragile state.
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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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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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Like true philosophers I've come to believe that religion is an illusion of childhood, outgrown after proper education.
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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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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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You're kind of a smart ass when you're not flat on your face.
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...Jake, a homosexual cop buried so deep in the closet he didn't know where to look for himself.
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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.
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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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The only thing worse than opera is someone who hums along with opera.
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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 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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