Adrien Quotes

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.

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.

To prohibit the reading of certain books is to declare the inhabitants to be either fools or slaves.

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.

I never meant to get involved with you, Adrien. Rest easy; you're not.

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.

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

Drink your coffee -- people in Africa are sleeping.

I love you," Jake whispered. "Are you strong enough for this?" I made myself comfortable. Said over my shoulder, "Sure." "Would you tell me if you weren't?" I grinned. "Maybe. I can't think of a nicer way to commit suicide." "That's good. I can't think of a more pleasant way to commit murder.

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.

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.

I'm a thirty-something gay man with a dodgy heart. I sell books for a living. Who wants to read about that?

To limit the press is to insult a nation; to prohibit reading of certain books is to declare the inhabitants to be either fools or slaves: such a prohibition ought to fill them with disdain.

The only thing worse than opera is someone who hums along with opera.

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.

I know that asshole you were with in college --” “Can we leave that asshole out of it?” Please, gentlemen, one asshole at a time.

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…

I think it was Mark Twain who said, “Get your facts straight, and then you can distort them as much as you like.

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?

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.

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.

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.

Have I ever told you, you look like Monty Clift? he inquired in a deep, seductive voice. Before or after the accident?

Love you? Of course I love you. Baby, I fucking worship you.

I’m never wrong? Who besides Republican presidents and evil masterminds can say that with a straight face?

He was probably selfish in the sack. Probably selfish and greedy and...unsophisticated. And hung like a horse.

And why is it the best looking ones are always straight?

You're kind of a smart ass when you're not flat on your face.

Then, like a born and bred asshole, he added to the sheriff, "He writes murder mysteries.

Cops before breakfast. Before coffee even. As if Mondays weren't bad enough.

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

It was nearly five before Jake walked in. He was sunburnt, wet, and smelled faintly of fish. Sexy as hell. Don’t ask me to explain.

Knowing and believing are two different things.

He looked okay. No, to be honest. He looked a lot better than okay. He looked...fine. Fine, as in get the Chiffons over here to sing a chorus.

She shrugged another plump shoulder. “I never listened to Porter when he got going.” Ah. At last. The secret to a successful marriage.

'You know what I thought the first time I saw you?' 'No.' 'Point of no return.'

You don't look so hot, Adrien." "Yeah, well I'm having a bad heart day." His upper lip curled in a semblance of a smile. "Tell me about it.

And yet there was something about his strength, his arrogance, his sheer size that got under my skin. He probably couldn't even spell vanilla. He was probably selfish in the sack. Probably selfish and greedy and...unsophisticated. And hung like a horse.

It means I know you, Adrien with an e, and I know you get reckless when you're impatient. You're paying for this investigation, and I'll keep you apprised every step of the way, but if you even think about going rogue on this one, I'm turning in my fedora and you can hire some other dick." I don't want any other dick. I closed my mouth on that one—metaphorically speaking—and said, “I don't know why the hell everyone seems to think I'm so reckless—

It wasn't merely fatigue. although it continued to worry me how tired i was all the time. I had a strange sense of missing something, of being in the wrong place - no matter where I was.

I'm not insane. This is very simple, very straightforward. Provided he doesn't kill me, it's foolproof.

Just shut up and listen.” “Well since you ask so nicely….” There was silence. I listened. He didn’t say anything. “Are we communicating through the Psychic Hotline or what?

You got a little bit of an attitude, Mr. English, if you don't mind my saying so. I don't mind.

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...

Assimilate ubiquitously. Doublethink. To deliberately believe in lies, while knowing they're false. Examples of this in everyday life: "oh, I need to be pretty to be happy. I need surgery to be pretty. I need to be thin, famous, fashionable.". Our young men today are being told that women are **, **, things to be **, beaten, **, and shamed. This is a marketing holocaust. Twenty-fours hours a day for the rest of our lives, the powers that be are hard at work dumbing us to death. So to defend ourselves, and fight against assimilating this dullness into our thought processes, we must learn to read. To stimulate our own imagination, to cultivate our own consciousness, our own belief systems. We all need skills to defend, to preserve, our own minds.

Peter is ... adjusting. He's back in school, and he's doing quite well. I wish you could find it in your heart to forgive him." "I've got this funny resentful streak about people who try to kill me.

I don't know if real courage lies in storming barricades or simply not denying the truth.

Kevin refilled my plastic cup with more box wine. I smiled thanks. Kevin smiled welcome. Jake kicked my ankle.

Be careful of your words in deals with the divine

I turned back to the television. After a while what I was staring at registered. “Hey, this is The Long Goodbye." Jake opened his eyes. “What?" "This movie. It's Robert Altman's take on Chandler's The Long Goodbye. ‘Nothing says good-bye like a bullet.’” "I don't know,” said Jake. “Sometimes the words are enough.

That's one of the oldest tricks in the world, Adrien-with-an-e.

...Opal is dead, and I don't see how a healer can change that! It's not something to joke about." Joke?" Then Owen hit his forehead and cried, "That's right, you haven't heard!" Heard what?" asked Adrien, who felt an insane glimmer of hope return to his heart. Death is on strike! She hasn't done that for two centuries, and it's very annoying. Your friend is alive." Very annoying?" repeated Amber. "I don't see what's so annoying about a miracle! What is Death on strike for?" Everyone knows that Death lives in Fairytale-in an inaccessible area, obviously. And just a few hours ago, she decided to stop working. So, for now, no one can die.

The phone rang, picked up, and the same male voice announced, “Chris Powers." "Hey there, Chris. Are you aware it's a felony to make threats over the phone?" To give Powers his fair due, he got over his shock within a split second. “Try it, asshole. I dare you. My lawyers will have you for lunch.” He clicked off again. I did what any red-blooded American male would do. I called my big, ex-cop ex-boyfriend.

This is like dating. This is...weird.

I’ve been telling you that you should hire Warren.” “Nat, I’m not going to hire Warren.” “Why not?” I opened my mouth to tell her exactly why not, but as I stared at her too-bright blue eyes and the way her chin was quivering, I chickened out. “Because…because I promised Angus when he left that he could have his job back.” “Adrien, he was involved in a murder.” “But he was very good at alphabetizing.

...do you have someone you can stay with? Hell, stay with your mother. The Pentagon doesn’t have the security system she’s got.” I really would rather die. “I’m not putting my mother in the path of a serial killer. Thanks for the thought.” “God help the serial killer who tackles your mother,” Riordan muttered.

'Yeah,' he said with slow satisfaction. 'You need it bad. Worse than I do.' I gasped, 'Is it a competition? What do I win?' 'Shh. Turn off for a few seconds, Adrien.' 'A few seconds? Is that all it's--' I caught my breath as his finger moved knowledgeably, unerringly. 'There's the off button,' he murmured.

Well, well," he said. "This can't be a coincidence." "It could," I said. "The odds aren't high, but they do exist." "Uh-huh.

...Jake, a homosexual cop buried so deep in the closet he didn't know where to look for himself.

I thought they expected you to be controversial at UCLA?” “I believe the Board of Regents draws the line at sacrificial murder.

One thing I'd learned the hard way: people loved you in the way they knew how - and often it was not the way you knew. Or needed.

'Adult life is a series of compromises, Adrien.' 'Yeah, only you're negotiating with the Devil.' Still not looking at me, he growled, 'Oh, go to hell.' I raised my water in a toast. 'Sure. I'll follow the trail of bread crumbs you're scattering.'

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.

He was breathing, which is always a good sign. As gently as I could I picked him up, placed him on the towel, wrapped it around him, and put him in my car. I drove to the emergency clinic, the cat purring on the seat beside me. “What’s his name?” the young man at the front desk asked as my towel and cat were whisked to a back room. “Uh…John Tomkins,” I said. “That’s different,” the receptionist said, writing it down. “He was a pirate,” I said. “I mean Tomkins. I don’t know about the cat.

Guy was saying, “What the hell is it about you that attracts murder and mayhem?" "Something in my body language?" He groaned. “That was bad—even for you.

Planning on staying?” “Just till you wise up.” “I’m flattered you think that’s a possibility.” “Yeah, well it’s lucky I’ve rolled a lot of vacation.

What the hell are you doing?” I smiled, thinking how odd it was that he was the only person in the world I could say this to. “I’m scared.” He was staring at me. “No way. I’ve never known anyone with more guts than you.” “We’re just not afraid of the same things.

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.

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.

If you press me to say why I loved him, I can say no more than because he was he, and I was I.

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. Then he lunged forward, pushing me flat in the pillows once more. He leaned over me, his mouth a brush of lips away from my own, his breath warm on my face. "Love you? Of course I love you. Baby, I fucking worship you.

Everything a gay man does makes a political statement. Everything matters: where you bank, where you shop, where you eat. When you hold your lover’s hand in public

Tiffs among the faggots were apparently the stuff of quiet merriment.

I do not want this cat. No, Nat. Not in a hat. Not in my flat. Not in the store, not anymore, just out the door. --if you please.

The degree of intellect necessary to please us is a fairly accurate measure of the degree of our own intellect.

'You remember asking me if I'd ever begged?' I wiped the corner of my eyes, sniffed. 'Is this about to get kinky?'

This could be heaven or this could be hell'?" "A lot will depend on the mattress.

We were locked onto each other as though we had just discovered this incredible thing you could do with two mouths pressing close and moist against each other. And the taste of him... Horrifyingly, unbearably sweet -- sweet in the way crack must feel hitting the bloodstream of an addict after years of staying clean.

Snowden said carefully, 'I've been unable to get in touch with the person I thought might know about our mutual friend's difficulty.' The guy sounded like he worked for the CIA. Or Charles Dickens.

He said you were on the scene when that Laurel Canyon homicide went down.” “I’m lucky that way,” I said. “So are you two square again?” I halted, mid-ripping open the cookies, and stared at him. “Well, he’s pretty square,” I said. “I’m just a rectangular guy.” With latent triangular tendencies.

He was right. I knew the score. He’d never pretended it was other than it was--whatever the hell that was. I’d never kidded myself there was any chance for us. Well, not often anyway. I guess my mistake had been in believing he was too smart and too honest not to eventually realize… Not his feelings for me--because I didn’t think what he felt for me was that significant--but his own true nature. How could he deny what he was? How could he choose to live such a profound and cancerous deception?

...I am not, however, militant in my atheism. The great English theoretical physicist Paul Dirac is a militant atheist. I suppose he is interested in arguing about the existence of God. I am not. It was once quipped that there is no God and Dirac is his prophet.

It’s more believable that a cop would get involved in solving these murders. I mean, you’re talking about writing a series. How believable is it that this Hollywood gossip columnist is going to keep stumbling on all these murders?

I felt the warm brush of his fingers pushing the key into mine all the way to my heart. I focused on the key because if I looked up, I'd see what he was feeling. Worse, he'd see what I was feeling -- in a minute what I was feeling was going to be spilling out of me, and it didn't make any sense. It had been over long ago; we had just finally got around to saying good-bye, that was all.

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.

Emma sat up very straight in the saddle. Her eyes were huge, but she said bravely, “I could do it!” “I know you can.” “I wasn’t afraid.” “There’s nothing wrong with being afraid,” I told her. “It’s how you handle it.

You’re healthy. The healthiest I’ve ever known you. And that’s how I want it to stay. I want you around for a long, long time. I want to spend the next fifty years with you. I’m counting on spending the next fifty years with you. So please, for the love of God, don’t do anything to mess that up for us. Not everyone gets a second chance.” “I

He smelled familiar. Not the dèjà 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.

Look, Paul. I appreciate what you’re telling me, but I gave Jake my word. Not to mention the fact, he’d throw my ass in jail if he found out I tried to go around him.” “He wouldn’t, you know,” he said. “Jake’s a pussycat.” Yeah, just a big old saber-toothed tiger.

Yes," I clipped out, "I know. Hurt happens." I heard that long, weary exhalation. "It does. That's life. It's the good and the bad, the ugly and the beautiful, the wins and the losses. I never thought you'd be too afraid to try. I though you were stronger than that.

Natalie said, “That detective in charge of the case: is he your Jake?” My mouth dried. The words felt arid and dusty as I forced them out. “Who told you his name?” Like I had to ask. “Lisa pointed him out on television the other night, and I recognized him as one of the cops who was in here the other day.” I opened my mouth, and then shut it. Jake had to know he was fighting a rearguard action. And I was through lying to my own friends and family. “Yeah,” I said. “We used to be friends. A long time ago. He’s married now.” “Bastard,” she said. I shook my head. “Not really. He never lied to me. I just didn’t ask the questions I didn’t want to know the answers to.

I gave a helpless laugh. “Damned if I know. I think…we seem to have reached impasse. I feel betrayed by your friendship with Verlane. I realize that’s not logical. I realize that if I’d made the mistakes Verlane has made, I’d want my friends to stand by me, hope that someone would help me when the time came. I just…” “What?” I met his eyes. “I just need to come first for someone, Guy.

Her back to me, she said, “I know what Paul thinks. Everyone thinks I didn’t love Porter, that I just married him for the money, but Porter and I --” She shrugged. As avowals of lasting love go, I’ve sat through more professional presentations. But I said, “No outsider can understand a relationship between two people.” Hell, sometimes even the people in the relationship couldn’t understand it.

It was hard to speak, what with my heart trying to climb out of my mouth. For every gay man this question comes at some point, in just such a tone, if not in those actual words. I don't know if real courage lies in storming barricades or in simply not denying the truth. I know it took every ounce of strength I had to say, "I'm gay, if that's what you're asking.

Passionate kisses, the intoxicating exchange of breath and saliva - and something more intimate - something there was no real name for, like a spark catching between us and taking light. How had I forgotten this? How had I been satisfied with anything else? Guy...Mel...it was like choosing celluloid kisses over the real thing. The real thing was raw and powerful and dangerous...but it was the real thing. Had I really believed I could make do with safe substitutes?

She went on, “Yes, Porter and I did discuss divorce, and we realized we loved each other too much to do anything so silly.” “That’s got to be a comfort to you now,” I said. “I can imagine how painful it would be to have someone you care for die with a lot of unresolved --” “Yes!” she exclaimed. “That is exactly right!” She gave me an approving lashless gaze. “See, gay guys always understand these things!” “We’re born with that understanding gene,” I said.

There was a line from The Lady in the Lake I could have quoted him: “Police business is a hell of a problem. It’s a good deal like politics. It asks for the highest type of men, and there’s nothing in it to attract the highest type of men.” When Jake recognized that he had failed to live up to his responsibility to uphold that law, he had resigned. He had had the honor and the courage to step away. Not every man had that in him; I thought probably very few men did.