Lesbian Movie Quotes

She thought of people she had seen holding hands in movies, and why shouldn't she and Carol?

If you are a woman, if you're a person of colour, if you are gay, lesbian, bisexual, transgender, if you are a person of size, if you are a person od intelligence, if you are a person of integrity, then you are considered a minority in this world. And it's going to be really hard to find messages of self-love and support anywhere. Especially women's and gay men's culture. It's all about how you have to look a certain way or else you're worthless. You know when you look in the mirror and you think 'oh, I'm so fat, I'm so old, I'm so ugly', don't you know, that's not your authentic self? But that is billions upon billions of dollars of advertising, magazines, movies, billboards, all geared to make you feel shitty about yourself so that you will take your hard earned money and spend it at the mall on some turn-around creme that doesn't turn around shit. When you don't have self-esteem you will hesitate before you do anything in your life. You will hesitate to go for the job you really wanna go for, you will hesitate to ask for a raise, you will hesitate to call yourself an American, you will hesitate to report a rape, you will hesitate to defend yourself when you are discriminated against because of your race, your sexuality, your size, your gender. You will hesitate to vote, you will hesitate to dream. For us to have self-esteem is truly an act of revolution and our revolution is long overdue.

Still, these days when I daydream about the movie, I don't think about the big picture. It's more fun for me to think of little things that would add to the movie. I like to think the powers that be would let me amuse myself with some small things in order to shut me up while they re-write the screenplay to turn Kvothe into a lesbian, shape-changing unicorn.

I guess it's true that us queers are starved for stories that mirror our lives. I can't remember a time when I saw a queer person in a movie or TV show or book that I didn't have to actively seek out myself.

Well, I always looked at Mulan as a movie about a lesbian coming out.

Now there is a book coming out that says Christ was really a woman who was a lesbian in a relationship with Mary Magdalene.” Jill started laughing . . . “Come on, people aren’t that gullible.” “Right,” Allison said. “All you’ve got to do is tell them it’s ‘secret’ or ‘forbidden’ or ‘hidden’ knowledge, then get a movie star to peddle it, and they’ll believe anything.

I'm just. A girl. Standing in front. Of another girl, asking her. To please accept. This grand. Gesture. As an apology for being an absolute gobshite.

Like my lesbian ass hasn’t religiously watched the movie adaptation with Helena Bonham Carter a thousand times more than that.

We’re here and they trust us.’ Mal chuckled. ‘It’s a million-to-one long shot, and only these two desperate lesbians can save the world. Perfect action movie material.

Where did I get the idea that love is strictly about yearning, or yearning followed by tragedy? Oh yeah, from like, the five lesbian movies that existed.

Any story dealing, however seriously, with homosexual love is taken to be a story about homosexuality while stories dealing with heterosexual love are seen as stories about the individual people they portray. This is as much a problem today for American filmmakers who cannot conceive of the presence of gay characters in a film unless the specific subject of the film is homosexuality. Lesbians and gay men are thereby classified as purely sexual creatures, people defined solely by their sexual urges.

Do most gay women love each other?” Doc asked. “A lot of them love closeted movie stars.

Philippa had absolutely no idea what was going to happen with Zara. She’d never seen movies about lesbian sex, or read books about it. She hadn’t even read books about men and women having sex. She read non-fiction books. Non-fiction books did not prepare a person for casual sex with ten of their coworkers.

The first girl I dated was named Cammie Anthony. She was a year older than me. She had failed eleventh-grade calculus and had to take it again with my class. The specific chemicals that are released when we have a crush are called norepinephrine, dopamine, and endogenous opioids. I remember Cammie reaching to hold my hand in a movie theater. We went to see a horror movie, and it was unclear if we were going as friends or on a date. Norepinephrine is what causes our bodies to have sweaty palms and increased heart rates. I remember lying awake in my bed texting Cammie until three in the morning. Dopamine is energizing; it makes us feel motivated and attentive. I remember every time my phone pinged with a text from Cammie, I felt happy. Endogenous opioids are part of our reward system. It's what makes having a crush feel enjoyable rather than just crushing. Oxytocin and vasopressin are the chemicals that make us feel calm, secure, comfortable, and emotionally attached to long-term partners.

Checking out shoes when looking for Lesbians is an elimination device, a negative marker. Lesbians wear sensible shoes whenever possible. Irene and I have learned to pass right by a woman who looks like a Lesbian from head to ankle, but wears flimsy shoes with pointed toes and heels. She is sure to mention a husband by her second sentence. So, what does a Lesbian look like? Well, we saw two old women drive into a campground in a large motorhome. One dog and no men accompanied them. These are Lesbian-positive clues. We seldom see old women in campgrounds unless they are accompanied by old men. They walked the dog, each wearing a long “ladies” winter coat and lipstick. We casually intercepted them. “Nice dog,” says Irene. The dog growled. We mentioned the movie about nuclear war on TV the night before. “They should go to Russia. Show it to the Communists,” they angrily replied. We walked on. If they were Lesbians, I did not want to know. “Not Lesbians,” pronounced my expert. “There are Lesbians who wear ‘ladies’ coats and Lesbians who wear lipstick. There are even Lesbians who prefer nuclear war to “Godless Communism”; but Lesbians would not let their dog growl at a woman without correcting it.

Do you remember that movie we saw when we were little?” I begin. “The Great Escape—we watched it with Dad at least seven or eight times. It was about these American pilots in a German POW camp who dig this long, long tunnel that runs the length of the compound. But, on the night of the escape, when they reach the end of the tunnel, they realize they’re six meters short of the forest. Their calculations had been off by six meters! They’ve got no choice but to risk their necks and make a run for it, in plain view of the guards. Do you remember?” “No,” she says indifferently. “Whatever. What I’m trying to say is: Being with a woman is like sticking your head out of the tunnel and discovering that you’ve actually dug through those last few meters.

Throughout high school, Ben strove to be as colorless as his room. He chose to blend in with the crowd, a popular white-bread crewneck group, with parents who summered in Nantucket and owned ski houses near mountains in Vermont. One Saturday night after returning from a movie with the happy-go-lucky girl he’d been seeing on and off, he told Harvey and me, in the family room reading newspapers, that he was going to come out in college. Neither of us was astonished, or even surprised. It was a relief to both of us. We had wondered for a long time. When we took Ben to college in Middletown, we watched the gay and lesbian groups chalk messages on the sidewalks at the top of the hill: Say hi to a bi. Give us a year and you’ll be queer. Have you told a parent you’re gay today? Ben was smiling. Ben and Harvey moved the station wagon out of a load zone, and I waited on a creaking swing in front of a building with the school flag, the American flag, and the state flag waving on top. Peace washed over me as though I had taken a pill for it. I wanted chalk. I had something important to say on the sidewalk: Have you told your son you’re happy for him today?

Besides the local residents, Meraud frequently entertained visitors from other parts of the world. There was an extremely eccentric Spanish marquise, a royalist who had fled Franco and was plotting the return of the monarchy to Spain. She was an aggressive lesbian who seemed to expect Meraud to provide her with a female companion. Meraud balked at this, complaining that she had no intention of procuring for any of her guests. One day the marquise showed me the jacket of a book she had written about the Spanish War under a male pseudonym, featuring a photo of the marquise cross-dressed as a man, with a fake mustache to enhance the illusion.

I know the adolescent phenomenon of staring wistfully out of a rainy car window and pretending you're in an Avril Lavigne music video doesn't belong exclusively to lesbians, but I'm talking about the collective energy of this experience. Lesbians are the energy of staring wistfully out of a rainy car window and pretending you're in an Avril Lavigne music video, personified. And that's because yearning is an inherent part of the queer female experience. And I'm not talking about, like, the 2018 awards cycle, when Bradley Cooper and Lady Gaga essentially performed yearning to sell their movie. I'm also not talking about Sally Rooney's Normal People, which is about a heterosexual couple who, for reasons unbeknownst, cannot be together because one plays football and the other one... reads books? Straight people, someone needs to tell you this once and for all. You are allowed to be together. You have always been allowed to be together. Romeo and Juliet is essentially hetero fanfic about what it's like to be gay. Your parents hate each other-who cares! For people who experience same-sex attraction, sometimes yearning is all we have. For me, yearning used to be everything-so much so that it damaged the relationships in my adult life. But before I had yearning, I existed in the Thirst Vacuum-a space that was so dark, so desolate, I couldn't yearn for anyone at all.

Nowadays, queer teens have no idea how good they have it, with their lesbian-outfit Instagram accounts and their dreary homophobia movies and their JoJo Siwas. Back in my day (2003), finding something gay to be horny over was like navigating the Oregon Trail. You'd have to run home from school and sit in front of the TV for hours waiting for the "Me Against the Music" video to play on MTV, just so you could get a sliver of gay, and that would be your only shot at seeing gay that whole day. No quietly streaming Netflix on your laptop in your room, no saving photos of Cara Delevingne and Selena Gomez showering together to camera roll, no "every Jamie and Dani scene in The Haunting of Bly Manor" compilation video on YouTube. Just a single queerbait moment of the day with absolutely no idea when it would come or ability to plan for it. Just sit and wait for Britney and Madonna to flirt. Oh, you have to go to the bathroom? What if you miss it? No, you'll be fine, just go. You missed it. The flash of a moment where Britney pins Madonna against the wall and they almost kiss is gone. Sorry you ate too many SunChips and got diarrhea and blew past the only possible lesbianism you could find today. You died of dysentery. You missed the gay; try again tomorrow.

I looked around the tiny bathroom, at the three of us crammed in. A billionaire, a movie star, and a small town girl. It was some sick lesbian twist on Gilligan's Island. I would have laughed but none of it was funny.

Now there is a book coming out that says Christ was really a woman who was a lesbian in a relationship with Mary Magdalene.” Jill started laughing . . . “Come on, people aren’t that gullible.” “Right,” Allison said. “All you’ve got to do is tell them it’s ‘secret’ or ‘forbidden’ or ‘hidden’ knowledge, then get a movie star to peddle it, and they’ll believe anything.” ― The Diaries of Pontius Pilate

Human flesh, though this will come as a shock to many of you, is a source of pleasure not necessarily localized in those specific areas that will be known to any follower of pornographic films or romantic movies, except those made in the United States.

You are not good for me, Astrid. I saw you and my heart did its thing. I found myself becoming obsessive, thinking about you constantly, about what was good for you and excuses to talk to you. And I was like, I've seen this movie before, so many times, and I know how it ends.

Here tit is. Enjoy. “It is better to light a candle than curse the darkness.” ~Eleanor Roosevelt. I’ve always been drawn to the eccentric, the eerie, the unbelievable. I’m a lover of books and beaches, movies and mayhem. If you want to know more, just ask! . . . An Eleanor Roosevelt quote? Is Millie a lesbian? Not that I know of, but now I’m questioning everything. ...Oh, and “tits.” Everyone notice she typed tits again? Classic Millie. Loves tits. Maybe she is a lesbian. Focus.

The amusing thing about porn is that often the best heterosexual females are in fact lesbians, and the best lesbians are heterosexuals. That should tell us something about the acting abilities of females.

It's the last day of the first month of the new mill ... mil ... whatever. We don't have space ships, robot butlers or hoverboards. 80s movies lied to us.

Well, Misty Hoyt,” Sergei grinned. “Why don’t you go up there on the stage and strut your stuff? I’d like to see you pole dance.” “What?” “Pole dance.” “Oh, pole dance,” I mumbled, slurping back saliva. I figured I would hardly be able to stand up, let alone pole dance. I had never pole danced in my whole life though Misty Hoyt had pole danced and had admitted as much at the bar to Andrei, but I hadn’t had time to catch up with all of Misty’s skills. This was definitely a hole in the planning of my backstory – giving me experience, as a pole dancer, I would not be able to fake. I would look utterly grotesque too, tattooed as I was; the vanity of self-consciousness never dies – I shuddered at the thought of me tattooed and pierced among those buff, golden, perfectly beautiful girls. Whatever! I had to do it. “Okay,” I said, “You are the boss, Mister Sergei.” I managed somehow to stand up, wobble, and then make my way, through tables and guests, and get over to the runway, and climb up onto it. It seemed very high. I weaved, tottered this way and that, and then somehow, I pulled myself together. I pole danced with one of the pole dancers – me weaving around one pole, and she around the other. She was the petite, fine-featured golden Vietnamese girl I had noticed before. I’d seen movies of pole dancing, so I managed to fake it; and then I was the tattooed pierced clown, a freakish waif, I didn’t really have to be very good. Then – I’m foggy about actually when – the golden Vietnamese girl and I were ordered to make love on the runway in the bright lights. The strobe lights had stopped. The other pole dancers had disappeared into the crowd. And now, except for the spotlights on the two of us, the whole place was subdued in dull amber light, a sort of nightclub twilight. The music went down, and it was quiet. I thought maybe I was hallucinating the silence. But no, it was real.

Meanwhile, Tommy’s idea of directing an actress during auditions was to push her in front of a camera and emotionally terrorize her. “Your sister just became lesbian!” he’d say, and wait for the “acting” to kick in. If that didn’t work, he’d yell: “Your mother just die!” Every actress with confidence or a strong sense of self bailed. The few able to withstand Tommy’s attitude fled at the first mention that they’d have to lock lips with him.

He wondered if they’d made the Australian lesbian vampire murders into a movie yet.

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