Lanyon 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.

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.

If there was one life skill everyone on the planet needed, it was the ability to think with critical objectivity

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.

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.

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 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.

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.

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 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.

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 didn't approve of murder on general principles. Not even of people who seemed to go around begging for it.

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

Love... doesn't happen every day. It doesn't happen at all for some people

Intimacy issues' is code for 'I haven't met the right person.'" "And what is 'trust issues' code for?" Pierce held his gaze. "I'm afraid to believe I've met the right person.

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.

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

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

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.

One thing I’ve noticed about getting older, it takes twice as much work to get half the results one formerly achieved by falling out of bed.

Hearts got broken every day. Nobody died from that. But it did kind of fade the sunlight and drain the color from the days.

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.

Goodbye!" "Oh, not goodbye!" he protested. "I mean to know you better, Miss Lanyon of Undershaw!" "To be sure, it does seem a pity you should not, after such a promising start, but life, you know, is full of disappointments, and that, I must warn you, is likely to prove one of them.

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.

Focus on someone else’s problems for a change, I instructed myself. You need the practice. From now on you’ll have to live in a world you didn’t make up. Horrible thought.

Not as intolerable as being dead, in my opinion, but I'm very fond of me. I would miss me a lot.

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.

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.

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.'

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 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 can’t figure out where you put all that,” Tucker observed. “You eat like a horse.” “It goes straight to my cock

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’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

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...

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.

I want people to react to my work, to think, to question, to challenge, to cry and laugh and feel.

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

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.

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.

I hadn't liked him at first. He did sort of grow on you after a while. Like the cosmopolitans. Or maybe because of the cosmopolitans.

I want to fuck you in those glasses.

Kit, you're forty. You look thirty. You act...well, never mind. You're carrying on like you think you're seventy

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.

People did terrible things to each other- and half the time they did it by accident.

Tucker said so softly the words were almost inaudible, "You're wrong, you know. I would let you get away with murder. Hell, I'd probably help you commit it, if that's what you wanted...

...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.

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.

That's the thing about sex. So much of it is just plain awkward, clumsy, are-you-sure-this-is-going-to-fit-I-think-they-forgot-to-include-the-washers.

They kissed, but it was a gentle kiss and there was no urgency. They were tired and they were...healing. They had time. And time was the most beautiful word of all.

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.

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.

Sable hair bisected his pecs and arrowed down to the straight and unequivocal statement of his returned interest. Forcing my gaze to his face, I said, "I really don't think we have time for that." "You know that, and I know that, but HE doesn't believe it." "Believe it," I told HIM. J.X.'s mouth tugged into one of those heart-stopping smiles. "Maybe you should whisper in his ear.

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.

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—

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.

Max's scarred brow crinkled. He reached for the coffee mug on his desk. “Motive is tricky. See, what might be a good reason for me to kill someone might not be a good enough reason for you to kill someone." Swift stared at his hands loosely clasped around his ankle. “I wouldn't. Deliberately hurt anyone." "And my impulse is to hurt anyone who hurts you.” When Swift's gaze lifted to his, Max said, “See how that works?" He did, and while it wasn't intended as a compliment, it did warm his heart in a funny way. He managed to joke, “Why, I think that's the most romantic thing anyone's ever said to me.

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.

Rick said, "Is there some place we can go and talk?" "You want to talk?," Keir raised an eyebrow. "I never thought I'd see the day." "Nah, I want to tell you this joke I heard." Keir nodded, patient. "Shoot." "Two Irish cops walk into a bar. The first cop says..." Rick's voice dropped. He said gruffly, "I love you. Come home." Keir managed to keep his voice steady. "What's the other cop say?" The sweetness of Rick's smile was like a kick in his chest. "That's what I'm here to find out, boyo.

But we all hurt the people we love sometimes. We all let each other down sooner or later. Which is why contrition and forgiveness played a part in any relationship. Trying not to hurt each other, trying not to let each other down in the big things, that was as much as anyone could aim for.

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.

To calm himself he mentally recited Wilfred J.Funk's 1932 list of "most beautiful words." It was his mantra on restless nights like these. Ten words that generally knocked him unconscious if he concentrated on them hard enough. Melody. Golden. Chimes. Luminous. Mist. Tranquil. Murmuring. Lullaby. Hush. Dawn...

What I like about cooking is that, so long as you follow the recipe exactly, everything always turns out perfect. It’s too bad there’s no recipe for happiness. Happiness is more like pastry—which is to say that you can take pains to keep cool and not overwork the dough, but if you don’t have that certain light touch, your best efforts still fall flat. The work-around is to buy what you need. I’m talking about pastry, not happiness, although money does make things easier all around.

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’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.

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.

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.