Perhaps home is not a place but simply an irrevocable condition.

No one can possibly know what is about to happen: it is happening, each time, for the first time, for the only time.

You don’t have a home until you leave it and then, when you have left it, you never can go back.

I think white gay people feel cheated because they were born, in principle, in a society in which they were supposed to be safe. The anomaly of their sexuality puts them in danger, unexpectedly.

A person does not lightly elect to oppose his society. One would much rather be at home among one's compatriots than be mocked and detested by them. And there is a level on which the mockery of people, even their hatred, is moving, because it is so blind: It is terrible to watch people cling to their captivity and insist on their own destruction.

The face of a lover is an unknown, precisely because it is invested with so much of oneself. It is a mystery, containing, like all mysteries, the possibility of torment.

True rebels after all, are as rare as true lovers,and in both cases, to mistake a fever for passion can destroy one's life