The innuendo is thick. When a yearbook editor juxtaposes photos like this, we do have to wonder whether it’s as deliberate as it looks. By the way, the Christian yearbooks invariably have the best innuendo. In general, the more private the college, the more homoerotic the photos. Military colleges also ooze with homoeroticism, obviously.
When lemony snicket said “i will love you as misfortune loves orphans, as fire loves innocence and as justice loves to sit and watch while everything goes wrong. i will love you until all the codes and hearts have been broken and until every anagram and egg has been unscrambled. i will love you as we grow older, which has just happened, and has happened again, and happened several days ago, continuously, and then several years before that, and will continue to happen as the spinning hands of every clock and the flipping pages of every calendar mark the passage of time. i will love you as we find ourselves farther and farther from one another, where once we were so close that we could slip the curved straw, and the long, slender spoon, between our lips and fingers respectively. i will love you if you don’t marry me. i will love you if you marry someone else, and i will love you if you have a child, and i will love you if you have two children, or three children, or even more, although I personally think three is plenty, and i will love you if you never marry at all, and never have children, and spend your years wishing you had married me after all, and I must say that on late, cold nights i prefer this scenario out of all the scenarios i have mentioned. that, beatrice, is how i will love you even as the world goes on its wicked way”
“According to your thesis, an influx of adrenaline and a desire to survive gave you that talent. Not God. This isn’t divinity, Eli. It’s science and chance.”
“Maybe to a point, but when I climbed into that water, I put myself in His hands–”
look at the two of them. dressed to the nines. silks from france and cotton from egypt. chanel on them both. they’re at a party neither of them was invited to, but so damn good looking that no one in their right mind would turn them away at the door. the woman - titties free under that dress, scoping out women in salacious flapper dresses in gloves created from 100,000 insects’ life work. the man - smoking a cigarette he took out from the mouth of one of the millionaires at the party, saying nothing but giving him a slow smile and a wink. the flower in his lapel is fake. dying plants in your clothing is such a hideous fashion. the both of them haven’t spoken to anyone there, though everyone has tried. they stand on the stairs staring at the heterosexual proles gathered below them together, and the two of them wonder if those fools realize that they’re outclassed, that in every way, they’ve been outdone. they leave early with a bottle of champagne in each fist, and no one stops them.
This is the most extra analysis I have ever seen of anything ever and I agree with all of it
