“Okay then, I suppose you get a pass on poker intimidation for the glasses, little brother. But everyone else is wearing them at the tables too, and they’re all just sitting there, looking all serious, like they’re birthing the Grand Theory of Everything.”

“Look at the stars,” said Tim. “Don’t you ever wonder what they’re for?” The Night was an open book of constellations.“They’re for the same as everything else, “said Sam. They’re just for themselves.” The stars silently agreed.”

“They’re like little boys, men. Sometimes of course they’re rather naughty and you have to pretend to be angry with them. They attach so much importance to such entirely unimportant things that it’s really touching. And they’re so helpless. Have you never nursed a man when he’s ill? It wrings your heart. It’s just like a dog or a horse. They haven’t got the sense to come in out of the rain, poor darlings. They have all the charming qualities that accompany general incompetence. They’re sweet and good and silly, and tiresome and selfish. You can’t help liking them, they’re so ingenuous, and so simple. They have no complexity or finesse. I think they’re sweet, but it’s absurd to take them seriously.”

“No. I do believe in them. I just think they’re absentee landlords. Right now, they’re probably hanging out somewhere in Las Vegas, screwing showgirls and cheating at poker.”

“You can’t plead tolerance for gays by saying that they’re just like everyone else. Tolerance is something we should extend to people who are not like everyone else.”

“All you have to do is wait,” I explained. “Sit tight and wait for the right moment. Not try to change anything by force, just watch the drift of things. Make an effort to cast a fair eye on everything. If you do that, you just naturally know what to do. But everyone’s always too busy. They’re too talented, their schedules are too full. They’re too interested in themselves to think about what’s fair.”