The Rise and Fall of Simon SnowLarge Print - 2015
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“He looks at my face and huffs, exasperated. "Baz, you're actually, literally the only thing I have to lose. So as long as doing gay stuff in public doesn't make you hate me, I don't really care."
“Safety, stability--it's an illusion. It's a false god, Simon. It's like clinging to a sinking raft instead of learning to swim.”
“I wind my fingers in his hair. It's thicker than mine, and curlier, and it shines golden in the firelight. There's a mole on his cheek that I've wanted to kiss since I was 12. I do.”
“He shakes his head, and he's saying something, and I think I might kiss him. Because I've never kissed anyone before. (I was afraid I might bite.) And I've never wanted to kiss anyone but him. (I won't bite. I won't hurt him.) I just want to kiss him, then go. "Simon...," I say. And then he kisses me.”
“I lean into him, because I'm cold and he's always warm. And because I like to remind him that I'm not afraid of him.”
“The front seat is for people who've never been kidnapped by bloody numpties. Jesus Christ, Baz.
“I think I might kiss him. He's right here. And his lips are hanging open (mouth breather) and his eyes are alive, alive, alive.”
“He’s a book full of footnotes brought to life. He’s a jacket made of elbow patches.”
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