Damon Suede Quotes

Because people should not be punished for loving and hoping and holding their hearts open.

It's a kilt, dumbass. It's only a skirt if I'm wearing underwear.

[...]Are both of you...?" "Manscaped?" Dante smiled. "I'm fucking Italian; I been mowing my lawn since I was thirteen.

If your heart is broken, do you have a phantom heart?

For the first time in his life he understood why the Bible called sex "knowing". Everything was different. Now he knew Dante. He'd known Dante. And wonder of wonders, Dante had known him right back.

You tell him for me: if he fucks with you, if he lays one Russian knuckle on you, your buddy is coming after him and someone's gonna need a screen door to fish out the pieces.

People need space; families need air; love needs light. Like Mrs. Anastagio always said, ―You need enough rooms to love someone properly.

Your life needs an airbag. I swear, Anastagio, you should have come equipped when you were born.

You‘re my best friend. You‘re the only somebody I got.

Just then Dante leaned against him, brow between his shoulder blades for a moment, so tentatively Griff held his breath. His voice was almost sheepish. “Nah. Everyone knows I was born defective. They didn’t instal you until later.

Gotten butt-ass, bone-dog naked for your vadge-cam?" Dante offered with an angelic smile, standing close. "Fucking hell, D." Griff turned to Beth with an apology, but she spoke first. "Huh-yeah. Thanks, cockbreath.

Hey, I like unicorns. Unicorns are just weaponized ponies.

Dante chuckled low. "There's my blush."

So damn jealous! Like I can see anyone but you.

Griff groaned and covered Dante's loose mouth with his own, driving his tongue in to steal the stars from his eyes, the fire from his mind.

Everything was so nutty with Loretta, all her reactions. She used tantrums like most people used sedatives

It was the list of activities thing. Like the menu with price, only I'm not the restaurant; I'm the meal.

I'll take Classic 69 and semen-swapping for $300

Trust this: drinking until you go away from the world only wastes moments of your life. All that time is lost. And time and love are incredibly precious. Yes? Don't waste either.

He needed me to make it okay.

Griff's pretty neat on his own. Scottish hedge!

You can't lose what you never had, you cant keep what's not yours, and you can't hold on to something that doesn't want to stay.

Never make a permanent mistake to solve a temporary problem.

The world is different, but folks are the same, huh?

The smile on her face was almost Dante's. Tears pricked his eyes, then hers, while all those impossible things passed between them. While the truth was sending down roots and throwing out branches until it filled the silent room with impossible blossoms. I love him.

Because I love you!" There it was, out in the air. Griff's eyes got wide. The words had come out angry, but Dante had meant them. He couldn't open his perfect mouth and swallow them back. His face softened. "In love, I mean. With you. For so long.

A man is just a life support system for assumptions.

No. Look, the mutual tug paid extra.” Dante mimed jerking and squirting without looking embarrassed, which only made Griff more embarrassed. “And the stuff you did at the end bumped our fee even—” “I know, man. Sorry about—” “—more. Bullshit, sorry! Blowing your jazz on me got us a three hundred dollar bonus. Didja know that?” Dante rolled his eyes and waved away the worry. “Dude, if I could get a fee every time you squirted on me, I’d camp under your bed and have you doing it three times a day.” Help me, Jesus. Griff’s eyes honest-to-God bugged at that.

Romance is the literature of hope.

I want you to move in with me, man." "Nah. I appreciate it, but I need to get a place of my own. I'm a grownup.

Always be working on at least one thing you'd be jealous of.

Griff held his breath, waiting for it, knowing the axe would fall and he‘d start dying as soon as he walked out the fucking door, and Dante would just grin and joke and try to forget what they had done together in this room.

Somewhere high overhead on the other side of the freighter, metal ground against metal making a sound like angry mechanical whales fucking.

Ugh!" Rina shook her head. "Men are so fucking stubborn." "Only when they're right...." He shrugged. "Or wrong.

Your life needs an airbag. I swear, Anastagio, you should have come equipped when you were born.” Just then Dante leaned against him, brow between his shoulder blades for a moment, so tentatively Griff held his breath. His voice was almost sheepish. “Nah. Everyone knows I was born defective. They didn’t instal you until later.

Two men, two friends curled in bed. The next few minutes would decide everything.

Watching his cofarmer return to the cove, Runt had the strangest sensation: a kind of foreknowing, as if he and Ox were immortal and ancient in this alien place.

No one becomes a bestseller by tossing every other potential blockbuster on a bonfire and assassinating other authors.

And Lord knows there are more than enough rooms to love someone properly, even if they don't all have floors or ceilings.

S’important to have old friends.” Silas wagged a finger. “They remember who you were before you made yourself up.

Griff held his breath while Dante's hand slid against the side of his soft bulge. He tried to remember that they were just two friends joking around on the corner in Brooklyn.(...) "Yeah. I coulda…you don't have to play undersea treasure hunt in my damn pants." "Gotta watch out for that electric eel." Dante closed his hand over the ring and winked and pulled his fist out.

Love hurts. Think back over romance novels you’ve loved or the genre-defining books that drive our industry. The most unforgettable stories and characters spring from crushing opposition. What we remember about romance novels is the darkness that drives them. Three hundred pages of folks being happy together makes for a hefty sleeping pill, but three hundred pages of a couple finding a way to be happy in the face of impossible odds makes our hearts soar. In darkness, we are all alone. So don’t just make love, make anguish for your characters. As you structure a story, don’t satisfy your hero’s desires, thwart them. Make sure your solutions create new problems. Nurture your characters doubts and despair. Make them earn the happy ending they want, even better…make them deserve it. Delay and disappointment charge situations and validate character growth. Misery accompanies love. It’s no accident that many of the stories we think of as timeless romances in Western Literature are fiercely tragic: Romeo and Juliet, Tristan and Isolde, Cupid and Psyche… the pain in them drags us back again and again, hoping that this time we’ll find a way out of the dark. Only if you let your characters get lost will we get lost in them. And that, more than anything else, is what romance can and should do for its protagonists and its readers: lead us through the labyrinth, skirt the monstrous despair roaming its halls, and find our way into daylight.

Trip cackled. “That’s so wrong!” “You laughed. If you laugh, then you think it’s true.” “Who said that?” “Everyone.” He huffed. “People laugh at the truth because if they didn’t laugh, they’d… I dunno. Cry or vomit.” Trip laughed loud and long at that.

Hey, Alek, you want us to, you know, weed-whack at all?" Dante tugged at his pubic hair. "Clip the curlies." "Uh, no. Our members prefer natural hair. Are both of you...?" "Manscaped?" Dante smiled. "I'm fucking Italian; I been mowing my lawn since I was thirteen. My brother taught me." Jesus. "I'm not." Griff's eyes bulged. He'd never thought about trimming down there. Dante gave his crotch a once over. "Griff's pretty neat on his own. Scottish hedge!

Bravery usually looked stupid from the outside.

LOVE IT! :) Yeah. They've been doing BIG billboards of this in the gayborhoods in NYC, LA and SanFran. Although I wouldn't fuck a Scientologist on a dare. 8|

SOMETIMES A plan is just a list of things that don’t happen. Ruben

Whatsamatter?" Dante scraped a hand over his abs, his neck, the side of his face--collecting his jizz. He sucked his pleasure off his lower lip. "I gave myself a fuckin' necklace.

When you can’t sleep, it’s because you’re awake in someone else’s dream.

Perhaps that was his way of punishing himself. Masochism. People torture themselves more terribly than anyone else could.

Lord, what men don’t know is a lot.

Dante climbed back on top of him, sitting on Griff's round butt to knead his shoulders. "I just wanna try. It'll be fine. No big deal. Maybe a massage first? Two dudes. That'd be okay right?" What was he asking? "And then, I want you" -Dante leaned forward, pressing his chest against Griff's muscular back, lips against his ear -"to fucking turn yourself loose on me.

Maybe a massage first? Two dudes. That’d be okay, right?” What was he asking? “And then, I want you”—Dante leaned forward, pressing his chest against Griff’s muscular back, lips against his ear—“to fucking turn yourself loose on me.

Pop culture. Nobody does bullshit better than us. Right? China took over manufacturing. And the Middle East has us on fossil fuels. That's just geography and politics. We're a nation of whacko immigrants. Scavengers and con men. We crossed the ocean on faith, stole some land and stone-cold made up a whole country out of nothing but balls and bullshit. Superhero comics got invented by crazy genius Jews who showed up and revamped the refugee experience into a Man of Steel sent from Krypton with a secret identity.

After the first week, I worried that I would forget moments, and so I drew them. Everything I could think of, every angle. I dreamed about you. And I tried to capture you so I wouldn't lose a single second of a single moment, because what if I never got to have them again?

All human creativity plays with patterns to create an emotional experience in its audience. We look for patterns and ascribe meaning because that is what we are wired to do. The inestimable Lisa Cron has written an entire book called Wired for Story that examines the direct link between brains and books, synapse and story—I cannot recommend it strenuously enough.

I missed you." A humorless laugh closed his eyes. When he opened them, the redness had turned them deep mossy green. "Sorry." Trip's own eyes welled up. "Not like, gosh-I-wonder-what-Trip-is-doing missed you. I meant I actually started to feel like I'd survived some horrible amputation and part of me had been hacked off and lost in a haunted warzone being gnawed by the walking dead. I missed you because you were missing. I actually spent weeks trying to imagine what you were doing at any given Moment... obsessing, really." He didn't wipe his wet cheeks. "Trip must be seeing the new Superman this weekend. I wonder if Trip's asleep. I wish I could swallow Trip's load right this second. Trip needs to stop and eat now, something not dyed or in plastic. I even went to watch the Big Dog office doors a couple of times, like the Little Match Queer, when I knew you had pages due, just to make sure, you were okay, but then you... I dunno: vanished.

She held up three hangers inside a vinyl garment bag and hooked them sideways on the coatrack to unzip. "Raw silk. Vintage. Sort of a purple-black." "Aubergine," he declared and cracked the opening wider. "I love a man who can make colors sound dirty." She grinned. "Cross-dyed." He wondered if Trip had helped pick this out, if he'd seen her model it and convinced her to splurge. "Great suit." "I gotta stand next to J.R. Ward. Feel me?" She fluttered her short nails at him. "Baby, I went and bought a pair of Givenchy boots I cannot even afford because the Warden is gonna be there in full effect, and you know what that means!" He didn't really, but he got the gist. "So you want nighttime for daytime." "Extra vampy, hold the trampy. Like, more Lust For Dracula than Breaking Dawn." Rina squeezed her shoulders together to amp her cleavage. "If I'm hauling the girls out, no way can I do sparkly anorexia.

Awww, G….

Whatsamatter?” Dante scraped a hand over his abs, his neck, the side of his face—collecting his jizz. He sucked his pleasure off his lower lip. “I gave myself a fuckin’ necklace.

Paulie’s sock….” Dante shrugged one shoulder, his mouth hooked in confusion. “Hell, I just ate mine.

Eating it’s way easier. Good for you.” Man down! Man down!

You can't lose what you never had, you can't keep what's not yours, and you can't hold on to something that doesn't want to stay

More power to ’em. What do I care? My ‘thing’ is a thing of beauty. And being this hot is a terrible responsibility.

Pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease….

Somewhere down below their waists, Dante was fumbling with his jeans, unzipping them and jamming them down to his knees.

I show two drawings, of eyes open and then eyes closed, you may think, “She fell asleep.” If I reverse the order, you could say, “She woke up.” The drawings didn’t change, but the context did. Most action in a comic page takes place in its gutters, between the panels. Given a context and a set of criteria, our minds fill in the gaps. Film uses similar gaps, using individual frames to trick our minds into seeing the illusion of movement by splicing a series of stills together or cutting from scene to scene to get to the action. Our imaginations fill in the missing bits.

paradox of human evolution in a nutshell: risk-takers who need certainty.

A story only succeeds to the extent that internal conflict becomes external action and external conflict creates internal action

In the words of acting teacher Sanford Meisner, “That which hinders your task is your task.

this sequence is most likely the root of the Rule of Threes in rhetoric and narratives. Feel that fact.

Koster argues that all entertainment identifies and explores patterns to attract and reward attention.

Dante would show up in church wearing a suit with no underwear, nudging Griff in the ribs and pointing to the little sprouts poking through the ashes of his shitty life. He

Griff felt like he was going to die of blushing.

His brown toes sank into the sixteen thousand dollar Agra rug. His jeans hung like seaweed from the Philippe Starck valet. His stubble scraped the eight-hundred-dollar pillowcase.

like a schizophrenic with an MBA.

You have a gift. Not just your talent, or smarts, or luck, or— He paused and closed his mouth, as if trying to slow his breathing. He poked Trip’s chest. Looks. You, Mr. Spector, have the cultural DNA and magical zip code to weave beautiful bullshit, and you’re a fool to waste it.

Trip Spector, don’t you put words in my mouth. You’re not a freak. You are a-lone. You been by yourself for so long, you expect everyone to play by rules you made up in your head and wrote in invisible ink.

Some stories don’t make movies. I mean superheroes, spies, serial killers… sure. But there’s some feelings you can’t put on a screen.

They aren’t heroes because you wave your big veiny wand. They’re heroes when they save the world from itself

Griff kept walking, keeping his damp ramrod aimed away.

That's one of the most bewitching things about romance for me, as a reader and writer. Romances harbor hope for the reader. They create a direct emotional experience of certainty and potential to bridge the dark moments and help lead us into the light. No small wonder that romance is the source of all fictional genres and that romance continues to outsell every other form of human literary output. Hope is a magical thing, hard-won and easily snuffed. Anyone can point out ways for us to stay disappointed, compromised, and anxious, but opening anyone's eyes to possibilities helps them dream harder and reach further. Any book that can do that deserves a place on my shelves.

As the gay friend in these situations, he always ended up in the corner holding someone’s purse.

Somewhere else they'd have been in college, but out here they probably had grandkids.

Patch, we only fall in love to find out just exactly how much we can tolerate.” Patch

What’s the opposite of homesick? Whatever it was, he was.

I have to leave or I’ll cry or I’ll hit him or I’ll lose control and he’ll see exactly what I am: an open drain that leads into a sewer.

How does he even want me? Ruben

Trust this: drinking until you go away from the world only wastes moments of your life. All that time is lost. And time and love are incredibly precious. Yes? Don’t waste either.” “I

Characters reflect psychology as a matter of coherence, but they cannot have psychology because they do not have lives.

Characters are not people or things, they are forces…arcs of transformation caused by high-stakes choices.

Art is the imposing of a pattern on experience, and our aesthetic enjoyment is recognition of the pattern.” Alfred North Whitehead30

Trust this: drinking until you go away from the world only wastes moments of your life. All that time is lost. And time and love are incredibly precious. Yes? Don’t waste either.” “I know. IknowIknowIknowIknow….

I just get hammered every once in a while so I don’t have to feel anything. I’d rather be numb than feel everything all the time. Ache for him.” He fiddled with the pleats of his kilt and strangled on his cowardice. “A dangerous habit for someone so often in danger. What do they say on pills? Do not operate heavy machinery? Life is heavy machinery.