“Listen, little lady, the people who do this kind of thing think if we rub up against them, they’ll catch it. But there ain’t no catching what we got,” he smirked. It was the same thing Mike had said. “Either you is or you isn’t. And if you’re lucky, you isn’t.” Toby’s extra-brown eyes softened. “Life’s hard enough.” He looked at me while I thought about this: Being gay wasn’t any different than having freckles.”

“I see you’re not being as sneaky this time around. I’m glad. You make a gorgeous couple.”Carmine smirked as he looked at Haven, seeing the blush rise up into her cheeks. “We do look good, don’t we?”Celia laughed. “I see your ego’s still as big.”“That’s not the only thing big about me,” Carmine joked. “Isn’t that right, tesoro?”

“Without lifting her head, she said, “I want you to get out.” And right then I was sure: M had been born with the mean gene. It’s the way we come out, Toby said. Maybe M being mean wasn’t any different than Mike and Chad being gay, or me having freckles. Mean was just the way she came out. She hated me all right, but it was nothing personal.”

“I’ve been kissed by men who did a very good job. But they don’t give kissing their whole attention. They can’t. No matter how hard they try parts of their minds are on something else. Missing the last bus—or their chances of making the gal—or their own techniques in kissing—or maybe worry about jobs, or money, or will husband or papa or the neighbors catch on. Mike doesn’t have technique . . . but when Mike kisses you he isn’t doing anything else. You’re his whole universe . . . and the moment is eternal because he doesn’t have any plans and isn’t going anywhere. Just kissing you.”

“While I do not have a boyfriend, I do have a friend who is homosexual and I once asked him "Do you ever think about having sex with me because you are gay?" to which he replied "Do you ever think about having sex with Rosie O'Donnell because you are straight? Same thing.”

“If you offered me the chance to do it all over, knowing what I know now, after the things I’ve seen . . . I’d shoot you in the head. That ain’t the kind of thing you ask a lady. —Frances Brown”