215 Quotes by Andrew Sean Greer

Why the gay press doesn't review your books?""They don't?""They don't, Arthur. Don't pretend you haven't noticed. You're not in the cannon.

Have you met someone?” “Me? I think maybe I’ll go it on my own. Maybe I’m better that way. Maybe I was always better that way and it was just that when I was young, I was so scared, and now I’m not scared.

Perhaps love is a minor madness. And as with madness, it’s unendurable alone. The one person who can relieve us is of course the sole person we cannot go to: the one we love. So instead we seek out allies, even among strangers and wives, fellow patients who, if they can’t touch the edge of our particular sorrow, have felt something that cuts nearly as deep.

Surely words are just the background music when passion pounces on a soul.

He knows the absurdity of asking someone to explain love or sorrow. You can’t point to it. It would be as futile, as unconveyable, as pointing at the sky and saying: that one, that star, there.

Grief will go – it always does – but not before it forces us to do these absurd things, and hurt ourselves, and bring on suffering, because grief, that parasite, above all else does not want to die, and only in these terrible moments it creates can it feel itself thrashing back to life.

It is a brave and stupid thing, a beautiful thing, to waste one’s life for love.

Nothing has happened in right field all season, which is why he was put there: a kind of athletic Canada.

Like measles, love was the kind of thing you had to catch in youth, dispel, so that it would not leap upon you in old age and kill you.