The louder and more frequent one's objections to homosexuality are, the more likely one is to be a homosexual.
Let me tell you a little story. It's about you. You are what we call a "late in life"-gay. You are going to stay in the closet, get married, get drunk to have relations with your wife, have a couple of kids — maybe become a state senator or a deacon, and then get caught in the mens room, tapping your foot with some page. And you know what? I accept that about you.
—Santana, who knows a little something about this trope herself, Glee
Henry: You have AIDS.
Roy: AIDS? The problem with you is that you are hung up on words. On labels, that you believe they mean what they seem to mean. AIDS, homosexual, gay, lesbian — you think these are names that tell you who somebody sleeps with? They don't tell you that.
Roy: No. Like all labels, they tell you one thing, and one thing only: Where does a individual so identified fit in in the food chain; In the pecking order? Not ideaology, or sexual taste, but something much simpler: clout. Not who I fuck, or who fucks me, but who will pick up the phone when I call. Who owes me favors. This is what a label refers to. Now, to someone who does not understand this, homosexual is what I am because I have sex with other men. But this is wrong. Homosexuals are not men who sleeps with other men. Homosexuals are men who, in fifteen years of trying can't get a pissant antidiscrimination bill through city counsil. Homosexuals are men who know nobody, and who nobody knows. Who have zero clout. Does this sound like me, Henry? [...] This is not sophistry, and it is not hopocrisy. This is reality. I have sex with men, but unlike nearly every other man of whom this is true, I take the guy I am screwing to the White House, and president Reagan smiles at us, and shakes his hand, Because what I am is defined entirely by who I am. Roy Cohn is not a homosexual. Roy Cohn is a heterosexual man... who fucks around with guys.
Henry: Okay Roy.
Roy: And what are my diagnosis?
Henry: ...you have AIDS.
Roy: No. Henry, no! AIDS is what homosexuals have. I have... liver cancer.
— Angels In America note
Larry: Harris! Sheesh. Next time, wear a bell.
Xander: Why so jumpy, Larry?
Larry: Geeks make me nervous.
Xander: Is that really it? Or is there something you're hiding?
Larry: I could hide my fist in your face.
Xander: I know your secret, big guy. I know what you've been doing at night.
Larry: You know, Harris, that nosey little nose of yours is going to get you into trouble someday...like today.
Xander: Hurting me isn't gonna make this go away. People are still gonna find out.
Larry: Alright. What do you want? Hush money? Is that what you're after?
Xander: I don't want anything! I just wanna help!
Larry: What, you think you have a cure?
Xander: No, it's just...I know what you're going through because I've been there. That's why I know you should talk about it.
Larry: Yeah, that's easy for *you* to say. I mean, you're nobody. I've got a reputation here.
Xander: Larry, please, before someone else gets hurt.
Larry: Look, if this gets out, it's over for me. I mean, forget about playing football. They'll run me outta this town. I mean, come on! How are people going to look at me after they find out I'm gay?!...Oh, wow. I said it. And it felt...okay. I'm gay. I am gay.
Xander: (thrown) I heard you the first time.
Larry: I can't believe it. It was almost easy. I never felt I could tell anyone. And then you, you of all people, you bring it outta me.
Xander: (awkwardly) It probably would have slipped out even if I wasn't here.
Larry: No, no, because knowing you went through the same thing made it easier for me to admit it.
Xander: The same thing...
Larry: It's ironic. I mean, all those times I beat the crap out of you, it musta been because I recognized something in you that I didn't want to believe about myself.
Xander: Larry, no, I am not...
Larry: Of course, of course not. Don't worry. I wouldn't do that to you. Your secret's safe with me. Wow.
"Dynamic Man said you couldn't throw a rock without hitting somebody in a mask and tights. 'And those are just the pansies in the German army,' he said, then added— 'They'd probably run even faster if they weren't wearing those stiletto heels.' Curt was always saying things like that. He made a point of saying them. Which made some of us wonder if maybe it was D.M. who had something besides his costume hidden deep in his closet."
—The Phantom Reporter, The Twelve
"ANOTHER sanctimonious Republican lawmaker who will undoubtedly one day be caught tap-tap-tapping in a men's room somewhere."
—Towleroad.com, a comment on the article "Tennessee Lawmaker Warns Parents Not to Watch 'Modern Family' Because Children Might Discover Gays Exist"
King Marchand: How could you be gay? You're the roughest, toughest, son-of-a-bitchin' football player I ever knew.
Bernstein: Listen, King, if you didn't want guys to call you queer, you got rough, tough, son-of-a-bitchin' football player.
"How do you know when a rabid, virile anti-gay activist is in fact gay? And y'know, the answer is well duh."
— Roy Zimmerman
Begbie Look, I'm no a fuckin' bufty, and that's the end of it
Renton Lets face it, itnote could have been wonderful.
(Begbie pins Renton to the wall and jams a knife into the wall between his legs)
Begbie Now listen to me you piece of junkie shit, a joke's a joke, but mention that again and I'll cut you up!
Mr. Garrison: Oh, stop filling his head with that queer-loving propaganda.
Chef: Say what?! You of all people should be sympathetic.
Mr. Garrison: What do you mean?
Chef: Well, you're gay aren't you?
Mr. Garrison: What?! What the hell are you talking about?! I am not gay.
Chef: Well, you sure do act like it.
Mr. Garrison: I just act that way to get chicks, dumb ass.
Racists never imagine what it's like to be like the person they hate, homophobes imagine it in graphic detail for hour upon hour.
— Bob Schooley