“I haven’t heard you laugh like that in quite a while. I was glad to hear it. I’m tired of seeing you in pain.” he said. “I’m going to do my best to keep you from ever hurting again. That’s a promise,” he said, softly.I believed him. I leaned over to give him a kiss.“I love you,” he said once we’d separated. “Now let’s go home.”

“You’re a sick son of a bitch. I’m your judge and jury. I find you guilty as charged and the sentence is death, mother fucker!”

“The first time I saw you, I wanted you. To me, you are perfect in every way. It physically hurts to be next to you and not be able to touch you. I think we could have something special if you gave it a chance.”

“I had waited so long to touch him. I was like a kid in a candy store. I backed him into the cabinets and pressed myself against his lean body. Gabe was breathing hard and he grinned.“Goodness, Purdie Magee.”"What?" I said."I'm a little surprised."I took his hands into my own and kissed his palms then his fingers. I placed his hands on my hips and pushed a little harder against the part of him that made us significantly different and he took it from there.”

“My heart yearned for the sleepy, little town of Green Bayou, the place I was born and raised.”

“With Derrida, you can hardly misread him, because he’s so obscure. Every time you say, "He says so and so," he always says, "You misunderstood me." But if you try to figure out the correct interpretation, then that’s not so easy. I once said this to Michel Foucault, who was more hostile to Derrida even than I am, and Foucault said that Derrida practiced the method of obscurantisme terroriste (terrorism of obscurantism). We were speaking French. And I said, "What the hell do you mean by that?" And he said, "He writes so obscurely you can’t tell what he’s saying, that’s the obscurantism part, and then when you criticize him, he can always say, 'You didn’t understand me; you’re an idiot.' That’s the terrorism part." And I like that. So I wrote an article about Derrida. I asked Michel if it was OK if I quoted that passage, and he said yes.”

“No Shep, I am serious. I need you to make me laugh again. I need us to be us. Shep and Lilly. Chocolate Muffin and Strawberry Shortcake. Us. Happy, silly, and free. Promise me you will make me laugh when all this is done,” I said and could hear the pleading in my voice. “I promise Lilly. I will make you laugh again. We will be us. We will be happy. Our son will be happy. He will laugh and be silly and free. I promise you,” he said before kissing the top of my head and I finally believed him. I believed in him”