John Inman > Quotes

“He lifted my foot and placed a kiss on the tip of my big toe. That toe had never been kissed in its life. I wondered if it was smart enough to know what had just happened. Would it lord it over the other toes now that it had been singled out and kissed by Frank Wells, or was it just a fucking toe and didn’t know what the hell was going on? Like me.”
― John Inman, Shy

“One lone butterfly flapped his wings somewhere in the vicinity of my spleen. He was probably a scout. No doubt six million other butterflies were hot on his heels, if butterflies even have heels.”
― John Inman, Shy

“In the cool of evening, in the silent shadowy barn, as we lay watching the sun ducking behind the treetops in the distance, I could hear my heart beating out the rhythm of my love for Frank. And when I rested my head against Frank’s warm chest, I could hear his heart beating out the same sweet song for me.”
― John Inman, Shy

“I love to read, but I'm not a reviewer. I'll leave the reviewing to someone else. Suffice it to say, if I'm reading your book, I'm loving it.”
― John Inman

“Timmy put his head to the floor, nose to nose with Thumper. Thumper opened her eyes and gave the kid a lick. Timmy licked her back.
“Don’t lick the dog,” I said.
“She did it first.”
“Yeah, but she cleans her butt with that tongue. Presumably, you don’t.”
-Jason & 4yoa nephew Timmy”
― John Inman, Spirit

“Danny squinted up at the sky and saw--nothing. No moon. No stars. Nothing. The heavens were buried in clouds. Big fat black ones. No wonder it felt like rain. One never really expects that in San Diego.

Of course, one never really expects to find a serial killer chopping people up on the other side of their back fence either. The world was packed full of surprises. Sort of like a piñata.”
― John Inman, Hobbled

“They both looked up at Danny’s bookcase by the window where Frederick the cat was eating the cover off of Danny’s childhood edition of Tom Sawyer. He had been going back to it periodically for about a week now, gnawing at the binding, tearing through the pages with his claws. Really getting into the story. Danny figured the cat must have a thing for Mark Twain.”
― John Inman, Hobbled

“Married?” I asked, being ineptly sneaky.
“Nope. Gay,” Sam flatly stated, being honest and not sneaky at all. How can you not like a man like that?
I almost choked on a green bean. Before I could stop myself, the words were out of my mouth. “And I’m sure the gay world is happy as hell about it.”
-- Jason & Sam”
― John Inman, Spirit

“We are what we are. If you are different, it's because you are special. Don't let anyone tell you differently.”
― John Inman, Paulie

“It was a nice name. It would look good on a tombstone.”
― John Inman, Words

“I ask you, is there anything greater in the world than having your man light up when you walk into a room?”
― John Inman, Shy

“Does your mother make you wear a straightjacket at home?”
“Only when we’ve got company.”
--Jason questioning Timmy”
― John Inman, Spirit

“It had occurred to Milo in a moment of morbid whimsy that authors work on the same principal as serial killers. The higher the body count, the more famous they become.”
― John Inman, Words

“The true measure of a man is what he does for others, not what he does for himself, and you measure up just fine, Tom. I’ll never forget it. Neither will Frankie.”
― John Inman, Shy

“God, I’m a slut. Of course, I’m a non-practicing slut, too shy to be anything else,”
― John Inman, Shy

“...for every story, a critic must step forward to either praise it or rip it to shreds. The process was inescapable...”
― John Inman, Words

“Dear Clutch,
I hope I see you again. Here's my number if you want to call. Thanks for last night. Your human is nice. ~D”
― John Inman, My Busboy

“Going into alpha-male hyperdrive, I tore the bag open a smidgeon too forcefully and chips flew everywhere.”
― John Inman, Shy

“Or maybe he was just looking for a purpose to it all. Or something to explain how anyone could spend thirty years on this planet and never once have stumbled into love. Or been the recipient of love, either. Not that he knew of, anyway. He had lusted after countless individuals, of course, and he might even have been lusted after himself a few times, but it wasn’t the same as love, was it? Lusting was just hormones. Lusting was just a normal bodily function. Like taking a dump. But loving. Loving was, well, loving. Giving, taking, sharing, caring. It was celestial, eternal, cosmic. Nothing celestial or eternal or cosmic about taking a dump. Unless it was a really good one.”
― John Inman, Loving Hector

“Maybe he owed his mother more than he really knew. Hell, compared to her, everything seemed better than it actually was. Two weeks with Stanley’s mother could make the Valentine’s Day Massacre seem like a skeet shoot. The sinking of the Titanic a mere act of baptism for fifteen hundred people. A flesh-gobbling case of leprosy little more than diaper rash.”
― John Inman, Serenading Stanley

“Se la mia vita fosse stata una telenovela, allora la mia tipica giornata lavorativa altro non sarebbe stata che l’ennesima scena tediosa in mezzo a una serie infinita di episodi uno più demenziale dell’altro – ogni sceneggiatura la fotocopia scadente di quella che l’aveva preceduta. E ogni giorno sarebbe stata un’esperienza terrificante. Ogni singolo giorno. Niente divertimento, niente ragazzo, nessuna emozione. Troppo spaventato per rivolgere la parola a chicchessia. Troppo spaventato per stabilire un contatto. Troppo spaventato per essere me stesso. Sapevo che c’era un me diverso che strisciava sotto la superficie, un me migliore, un me divertente. Ma far uscire quest’altro me andava molto oltre le mie capacità. Cazzo, già facevo fatica a far finta di sembrare normale. La normalità vera era infinitamente al di là della mia portata. Per niente patetico, vero?”
― John Inman, Shy

“Chicken and dumplings, chicken à la king, chicken salad, chicken fricassee, chicken tacos, Kentucky Fried Chicken, chicken burritos, chicken marinara. Sound good? How about this, you little peckerheads. Chicken and rice, chicken almondine, chicken croquettes, spicy chicken wings, sweet and sour chicken, chicken fried rice, chicken florentine. Yummy, huh? That could be you, you know. Oh yeah. Mess with me, you clucky fuckers, and you’ll be chopped up in little pieces and wearing a garnish of parsley and parmesan and crusted up to your eyeballs. Your kids’ll be omelets. You know why the chicken crossed the road? To get away from me!”
― John Inman, Shy