Edmund White Quotes

You say that you don’t care about age and that you’re ready to push the wheelchair and hose down my bum, but how can you be sure?

I still feel like a young girl, as though everything is about to happen.

Don’t let him lead you astray, my child. He’s such a wicked man, woof!

A middle-aged man who’s probably down to jerking off every other day. A weary man of forty who’s already seen everything come around twice, who let me fuck him that once in a hole where whole armies of men have doubtless passed.

Like many hard-bitten cynics, he cried easily and was always falling into fluttery love with his type, clean-cut Yalies.

That a life could be changed posited the still more thrilling notion that one had a thing called a life, a wonderful being that was growing silently inside like an infant.

Saint Guy of Anderlecht was the tenth-century Belgian saint of animals, stables, workhorses, and bachelors.

Death in Venice made me hope that there might be others like me, somewhere out there, possibly in the ritzy nearby community of Charlevoix. He’d be older, rich, devoted to me and my magical youth.

Older guys have too much emotional baggage. They’ve already lived their lives.

The French have such an attractive civilization, dedicated to calm pleasures and general tolerance, and their taste in every domain is so sharp, so sure, that the foreigner (especially someone from chaotic, confused America) is quickly seduced into believing that if he can only become a Parisian he will at last master the art of living.

He’d had a few sordid gay experiences. He’d wrestled with an obese neighbour boy in Clermont-Ferrand when he was fourteen and last year had been approached in the Clermont-Ferrand train station loo by an obscene old man who’d removed his dentures, wagged his tongue, and pointed to his open, pulsing mouth.

Stendhal had said a Frenchman was an Italian in a bad mood.

Of course I don’t expect you to have any feelings for me, since I abandoned you when you were a baby. Nor do I feel any great maternal love for you. I know that very few women would speak this way — would permit themselves to — but when you were born, it was too late for an abortion and adoption was impossible in your father’s family. It’s not as if I ever had some great mission in life. I wasn’t an actress or a scientist or a writer or even a philanthropist. I had no goal, no destiny. But I knew that, restless as I was, I could bring you nothing but misery.

The poet must steal fire from the heavens.

Just think of dick as pussy on a stick.