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Lgtbq Quotes

Browse 98 quotes about Lgtbq.

Lgtbq Quotes

“Your words manipulated me, and I fell for it every single time. Your eyes and words were like a snake. I was hypnotized by your lies. You squeezed me to the point that I suffocated, died mentally, came back to life, and was under your spell. Loving you was cruel, but the craziest thing about it all was that my dumb ass somehow felt safe.” ~Love is respect ♥~”

“Dedicated to every strong soul who is in a domestic violence relationship, please know that you are not alone. There is no need to swim against the tides. Release your fear and know you are loved, wanted, cared for, and you are someone very special. You are strong enough to sweep the fear from your soul. You are bold enough to look fear in the eyes because, after all, you are the one who holds the keys to unlock how you want your life to be. You have what it takes to grab life by the hand because life is meant to be lived, enjoyed, and loved. ~Love is respect ♥~”

“We all are going through something in life. Some of us are battling demons that are in our way or our inner demons. Either way, we can accept it or make the choice to want better for ourselves. It won’t be easy, more than likely, it will be a challenge, but it will be worth it in the end.” ~Love is respect ♥~”

“I have been broken down many times before—and I am always the one who is left to pick up the pieces. Most of the time, there are too many pieces to pick up, so I leave them where they lay and never look back. I have to be honest with myself, that is one of my mistakes, instead of walking away, I should have picked up the pieces. That way, I would have learned and grown from what was left behind.” ~Love is respect ♥~”

“Dante, Dante, Dante. He was like a heart that was beating in every pore of my body. His heart was beating in my heart. His heart was beating in my head. His heart was beating in my stomach. His heart was beating in my legs. His heart was beating in my arms, my hands, my fingers. His heart was beating in my tongue, my lips. No wonder I was trembling. Trembling, trembling, trembling.”

“In reality, I was a lanky, black, obvious teenager, obviously effeminate too, if given an opportunity to move or speak. But from a distance, maybe my body transformed, as the bodies of young black men are wont to do when stared at by white people in this country. Maybe my spine stretched itself into a basketball player’s posture, this stranger’s gaze giving me something I could never quite seem to give myself: the sense of being a real man, strong, even intimidating.”

“You know, I read an article a while back about people like the daughter,” Tammy continued as though she hadn’t been asked a question. She leaned back in her chair and looked out over the gray lake. “Studies say they usually turn out just fine, actually. Totally normal. I thought the lack of balance at home would make it hard for them to grow up right. But the article said they’re like those plants that grow in the dark. Resilient.” She said resilient with a punch in her voice, like Logan was a soldier marching against her oppressively gay fathers.”

“Older age can be challenging for LGBTQ people when living an independent life becomes more difficult. Having lived in a same-sex relationship for many years there are limited choices about living in a retirement home where some people may feel that they have to supress their sexuality in order to appease others. I hear less these days about this aspect of LGBT life, being forced back into the closet in order to live in close proximity to others, that can cause depression particularly where there may be no close relatives or friends having lived a long life”

“It seemed strange to me, to suddenly be so protective of the rights of refusal of a girl I was dying to sink my teeth into, a girl who would probably love to see me crawl and beg and suffer. But I decided on the spot that if I was going to be a monster, I was going to be an elegant one, like my beloved De Lafontaine. There was no sense descending into an animalistic frenzy without the full agreement of my blood donor; there was no art in it, no beauty. And I would die before I sacrificed art and beauty. Life simply wasn't worth living if it wasn't by those principles.”

“She follows her nose and stands once more before the doors of a quintessential dilemma. Male or Female. Here is her paradox. A staccato voice seems to challenge her, berate her. Hombre or Mujer. Mann or Frau. Homme or Femme. Gentleman or Lady. Com on, decide. She knows them all. She is them all. Not fluid or all-encompassing, gathering the harvest of the reaping fields, but fractured and split and bleeding. Her inner core weeping out of itself. There is nothing for hermaphrodites. It's too confusing. The words rattle around in her earbones, androgynous and humming. How can she choose? She cannot choose. To choose is to sunder.”