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Lgbtq Quotes

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Lgbtq Quotes

“They have been brainwashed by this fucked up system that has condemened us and by doctors that call us a disease and a bunch of freaks. Our family and friends have also condemned us because of their lack of true knowledge.”

“A woman with nothing to lose is merely dangerous; a woman with everything to protect is a reckoning." Maria Monday, Symphony of Lies "MOST INHERIT WEALTH. SOME INHERIT SECRETS WORTH KILLING FOR." Maria Monday, Symphony of Lies "For some, gazing into the abyss fosters strength, while others are consumed by it." Maria Monday, Symphony of Lies” Maria Monday, Symphony Of Lies: A Psychological Thriller of Power, Deception, and Deadly Secrets”

“This is Pride Month, and in this life, you’ve got to be your own hero. Forget waiting for a caped crusader—grab your own cape and strut your stuff. Embrace your true colors, wave that rainbow flag like it’s your superpower, and remember: the best hero is the one staring back at you in the mirror. Be bold, be fierce, and let your pride shine brighter than any bat signal. So, suit up and show the world that the greatest superhero of all is you, living your truth unapologetically!”

“You don't need to cut out the heart in your chest so other people can breathe. You just need to let them use their lungs. The right of someone to breathe does not detract from your heartbeat. We must not fear the lives that others live. Someone else going to Heaven doesn't mean you're going to Hell. Someone else going to Hell does not mean you're going to burn too. We must not fear the freedom that others have. You don't need to stop breathing so other people can keep their lungs. You just need to let them breathe. Why don't we all put a final end to the limitations that we think we are born into? They're not real. They don't exist.”

“The photo I had engraved on Mike’s stone makes me smile. I can only imagine what he’d say about the likes of me today: private investigator. He’d never believe it. Huge difference from when we worked the streets together.I can still hear his voice. “Here, Paul. Taste this.” When I concentrate hard enough, I can still taste that awful cooking of his. If there truly is life after death, I sure hope he’s a better cook now than he was back then. Funny the things you miss after someone you love is gone.”

“A woman with nothing to lose is merely dangerous; a woman with everything to protect is a reckoning." Maria Monday, Symphony of Lies "Some inherit money. Others inherit secrets worth killing for." Maria Monday, Symphony of Lies "For some, gazing into the abyss fosters strength, while others are consumed by it." Maria Monday, Symphony of Lies”

“my blood runs pink (for my sexuality that is mine to embrace, not yours to strike with lightning bolts of change) and red (for the life i will continue to live, the life you cannot take away from me) and orange (for my siblings who heal me with their love and understanding, helping me piece myself back together after you tried to break me) and yellow (for the sunlight from within that still manages to shine in these dark times) and green (for existing in the natural, physical world when all you want is my disappearance) and blue (for the serenity we bring amidst the disturbances we face) and purple (for my spirit, which won’t be broken) (it can never be broken and you will never break us)”

“Politically correct sexuality is a paradoxical concept. One of the most deeply held opinions in feminism is that women should be autonomous and self-directed in defining their sexual desire, yet when a woman says “This is my desire,” feminists rush in to say, “No, no, it is the prick in your head; women should not desire that act.” But we do not yet know enough about what women– any women– desire. The real problem here is that we stopped asking questions too early in the lesbian and feminist movement, and rushed to erect what appeared to be answers into the formidable and rigid edifice that we have now. Our contemporary lack of curiosity also affects our view of the past. We don’t ask butch-femme women who they are; we tell them. We don’t explore the social life of working-class lesbian bars in the 1940’s and 1950’s; we simply assert that all those women were victims. Our supposed answers closed our ears and stopped our analysis. Questions and answers about lesbian lives that deviate from the feminist model of the 1970’s strike like a shock wave against the movement’s foundation, yet this new wave of questioning is an authentic one, coming from women who have helped create the feminist and lesbian movement that they are now challenging into new growth. If we close down exploration, we will be forcing some women once again to live their sexual lives in a land of shame and guilt, only this time they will be haunted by the realization that it was not the patriarchal code they had failed, but the creed of their own sisters who said they came in love. Curiosity builds bridges between women and between the present and past; judgement builds the power if some over others. Curiosity is not trivial; it is respect one life pays to another. It is a largeness of mind and heart that refuses to be bound by decorum or by desperation. It is hardest to keep alive in the times it is most needed, the times of hatred, of instability, of attack. Surely these are such times.”

“Gonna suck your dick so much the next few days. Gonna make you come over and over.” I gasp as I imagine it, him between my legs, his tongue doing things to me that I’ve been craving. “Come for me, Skye. Just me.” I nod as he continues to fuck into me, his movements stuttering, growing more frantic. My body is burning up, an inferno. This is worse than the first time. I can tell. It’s hotter, more feral. I always heard the first time was the most intense, but I can tell that this time is going to give Maverick a run for his money. He’s going to get very little sleep the next few days.”

“I start to vibrate with euphoria as he knots me again and we fall onto the bed, our bodies wrapped against each other, our breathing labored. “It feels different this time,” I say, and he nods, kissing my broken skin. “It feels right. You and me.” “Yes,” I say as my eyelids fall shut. The last thing I remember is him whispering something in my ear, words that are foreign to me. And it lulls me to sleep.”

“I’m not sorry about any of that,” I say as I shove the helmet on my head and meet his stare. I clip it under my chin and put my hands on my hips. “She was rude and I couldn’t stand it.” He blinks down at me, his hand moving toward the back of my neck. He squeezes it gently, pulling me toward him. His lips land on mine, a soft kiss that grows more fevered. I groan into him and hold on to his shoulders to keep myself standing. I can feel several emotions swirling through me, tightening around my chest. Relief, possession,”