Muhammad Ali:
I ain't draft dodging. I ain't burning no flag. I ain't running to Canada. I'm staying right here. You want to send me to jail? Fine, you go right ahead. I've been in jail for 400 years. I could be there for 4 or 5 more, but I ain't going no 10,000 miles to help murder and kill other poor people. If I want to die, I'll die right here, right now, fightin' you, if I want to die. You my enemy, not no Chinese, no Vietcong, no Japanese. You my opposer when I want freedom. You my opposer when I want justice. You my opposer when I want equality. Want me to go somewhere and fight for you? You won't even stand up for me right here in America, for my rights and my religious beliefs. You won't even stand up for my right here at home.
Reinaldo Arenas:
Walking along streets that collapse from crumbling sewers. Past buildings that you jump to avoid because they will fall on you. Past grim faces that size you up and sentence you. Past closed shops, closed markets, closed cinemas, closed parks, closed cafes. Sometimes showing dusty signs, justifcations: "CLOSED FOR RENOVATION," "CLOSED FOR REPAIRS." What kind of repairs? When will these so-called renovations be finished? When at last will they begin? Closed... closed... closed... everything closed. I arrive, open the countless padlocks and run up the temporary stairs. There she is, waiting for me. I pull off the cover, and stare at her dusty, cold shape I clean of fthe dust and caress her. With my hand, delicately, I wipe clean her back, her base and her sides. Infront of her, I feel desperate and happy. I run my fingers over her keyboard and suddenly it all starts up. With a tinkling sound the music begins, little by little, then faster; now full speed. Walls, trees, streets, cathedrals, faces and beaches. Cells, mini- cells, huge cells. Starry nights, bare feet, pines, clouds. Hundreds, thousands, millions of parrots. A stool, a climbing plant, they all answer my call, all come to me. The walls recede, the roof vanishes, and you float quite naturally. You float uprooted, dragged off, lfited high. Transported, immortalized, saved. Thanks to that subtle, continuous rhythm, that music, that incessant tap-tap.
Romeo:
If I profane with my unworthiest hand this holy shrine, the gentle sin is this. My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand to smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss.
Juliet:
Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much, which mannerly devotion shows in this. For saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do touch, and palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss.
Romeo:
Have not saints lips, and holy palmers, too?
Juliet:
Ay, pilgrim, lips that they must use in prayer.
Romeo:
Well, then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do. They pray, grant thou, lest faith turn to despair.
Juliet:
Saints do not move, though grant for prayers' sake.
Romeo:
Then move not, while my prayer's effect I take.
Romeo:
[They kiss] Thus from my lips, by thine, my sin is purged.
Juliet:
Then have my lips the sin that they have took?
Romeo:
Sin from my lips? O trespass sweetly urged! Give me my sin again.
Juliet:
[they kiss again] You kiss by the book.
Keith Griffin:
It's back.
Christian:
Yeah, this must be your lucky fuckin' day.
Keith Griffin:
Or maybe I'm just not suffering enough yet. I didn't expect to see you again.
Christian:
Oh, come on now. You don't think you going all 'Miss Cleo the Psychic' on my ass is gonna scare me off that easy - now do you?
Keith Griffin:
Maybe it's just dementia setting in. Sometimes I read people and I... I think I'm the oracle of Delphi.
Christian:
Well, sometimes I growl at people. Doesn't make me Eartha Kitt. I'm just goin' to put this right about here.
Keith Griffin:
It doesn't matter, I'm still not hungry.
Christian:
I don't remember asking you if you were. I just deliver this stuff, remember? But my friend Andrew made this, and he doesn't even cook for his boyfriends. So the least you could do is tryin' to be polite, and eat it.
Keith Griffin:
I don't have to pretend to be polite. I think I've... I think I've earned that right.
Christian:
Oh yes, that's right; you're dying, you're bitter, blah, blah, blah... Fortunately I'm shallow so I'm impervious to that. Now eat it.
Keith Griffin:
Impervious? Bet you don't know how to spell that.
Christian:
Sure I do. It's spelled 'Bite me.'
