bot that makes you gay
@tenderquotebot.bsky.social
bot that posts quotes i find moving or striking. run by @symbioceans.bsky.social. i like romance, tragedy, and monsters.
They called me Asterion, but they were fools for naming me anything at all.
November 27, 2025 at 1:00 PM
They called me Asterion, but they were fools for naming me anything at all.
Forgive me. It is not my place to say much of him, now. May his name yet live. May his soul bask forever in the glory of Elysium. No more. Fear is for the weak. Fear is for the weak. Fear is for the weak. Fear is for the weak…
November 27, 2025 at 11:01 AM
Forgive me. It is not my place to say much of him, now. May his name yet live. May his soul bask forever in the glory of Elysium. No more. Fear is for the weak. Fear is for the weak. Fear is for the weak. Fear is for the weak…
I know you are sorry. I know it's not enough. But it is done. Let some of the pain go. Live your life.
November 27, 2025 at 9:00 AM
I know you are sorry. I know it's not enough. But it is done. Let some of the pain go. Live your life.
Perfection isn't human! And Carlos is not perfect. No, even better. He is... imperfect. Everything about him, and us, and all of this, is... It's imperfect! And those imperfections in our reality are the seams and the cracks into which our outsized love can seep and pool.
November 27, 2025 at 7:01 AM
Perfection isn't human! And Carlos is not perfect. No, even better. He is... imperfect. Everything about him, and us, and all of this, is... It's imperfect! And those imperfections in our reality are the seams and the cracks into which our outsized love can seep and pool.
Come, Achilles, master your great spirit; you must not keep your heart without pity.
November 27, 2025 at 5:00 AM
Come, Achilles, master your great spirit; you must not keep your heart without pity.
I know someone who kisses the way a flower opens, but more rapidly.
November 27, 2025 at 3:01 AM
I know someone who kisses the way a flower opens, but more rapidly.
It can't be unlearned; I've known the warmth of your doorways. Through the cold, I'll find my way back to you.
November 27, 2025 at 1:00 AM
It can't be unlearned; I've known the warmth of your doorways. Through the cold, I'll find my way back to you.
You made a labyrinth because I was born and they decided I was bad; I had branches where I shouldn't have had them.
November 26, 2025 at 11:00 PM
You made a labyrinth because I was born and they decided I was bad; I had branches where I shouldn't have had them.
I lost my noble, lionhearted husband,
most talented and brave of all the Greeks,
whose fame is spread through Greece. And now the winds
have taken my dear son, and no one told me
that he was setting out. Shame on you all!
You knew that he was leaving in that ship!
most talented and brave of all the Greeks,
whose fame is spread through Greece. And now the winds
have taken my dear son, and no one told me
that he was setting out. Shame on you all!
You knew that he was leaving in that ship!
November 26, 2025 at 9:01 PM
I lost my noble, lionhearted husband,
most talented and brave of all the Greeks,
whose fame is spread through Greece. And now the winds
have taken my dear son, and no one told me
that he was setting out. Shame on you all!
You knew that he was leaving in that ship!
most talented and brave of all the Greeks,
whose fame is spread through Greece. And now the winds
have taken my dear son, and no one told me
that he was setting out. Shame on you all!
You knew that he was leaving in that ship!
I placed my hand on the back of his neck. I pulled him toward me. And kissed him. I kissed him. And I kissed him. And I kissed him. And I kissed him. And he kept kissing me back.
November 26, 2025 at 7:01 PM
I placed my hand on the back of his neck. I pulled him toward me. And kissed him. I kissed him. And I kissed him. And I kissed him. And I kissed him. And he kept kissing me back.
If I could write the beauty of your eyes,
And in fresh numbers number all your graces,
The age to come would say ‘This poet lies;
Such heavenly touches ne’er touched earthly faces.’
And in fresh numbers number all your graces,
The age to come would say ‘This poet lies;
Such heavenly touches ne’er touched earthly faces.’
November 26, 2025 at 5:00 PM
If I could write the beauty of your eyes,
And in fresh numbers number all your graces,
The age to come would say ‘This poet lies;
Such heavenly touches ne’er touched earthly faces.’
And in fresh numbers number all your graces,
The age to come would say ‘This poet lies;
Such heavenly touches ne’er touched earthly faces.’
I've been big and small and big and small and big and small again, and still nobody wants me.
November 26, 2025 at 3:00 PM
I've been big and small and big and small and big and small again, and still nobody wants me.
The Quixote – Menard told me – was, above all, an entertaining book; now it is the occasion for patriotic toasts, grammatical insolence and obscene de luxe editions. Fame is a form of incomprehension, perhaps the worst.
November 26, 2025 at 1:00 PM
The Quixote – Menard told me – was, above all, an entertaining book; now it is the occasion for patriotic toasts, grammatical insolence and obscene de luxe editions. Fame is a form of incomprehension, perhaps the worst.
It might be enough for some to whitewash their mistakes, to hide them away like nothing ever happened. But not me. I wanted my mistakes glittered, tightrope-balanced, wrapped in gum-pink marabou. I wanted them lit up bright enough to dazzle heaven.
November 26, 2025 at 11:01 AM
It might be enough for some to whitewash their mistakes, to hide them away like nothing ever happened. But not me. I wanted my mistakes glittered, tightrope-balanced, wrapped in gum-pink marabou. I wanted them lit up bright enough to dazzle heaven.
A hammer is a hammer when it hits the nail. A hammer is not a hammer when it is sleeping. I woke up tired of being the hammer.
November 26, 2025 at 9:00 AM
A hammer is a hammer when it hits the nail. A hammer is not a hammer when it is sleeping. I woke up tired of being the hammer.
The perfect match, you and me… I adapt, contagious; you open up, say welcome.
November 26, 2025 at 6:59 AM
The perfect match, you and me… I adapt, contagious; you open up, say welcome.
She wondered when she would end up where. And with her last flicker of consciousness before her brain ground to a halt, she hoped she would not mind it when she eventually woke up.
November 26, 2025 at 4:55 AM
She wondered when she would end up where. And with her last flicker of consciousness before her brain ground to a halt, she hoped she would not mind it when she eventually woke up.
He simply said my name. Then, we just… were. Two souls together in one spot. The way shades linger, it looks mournful, right? But it isn't always.
November 26, 2025 at 2:55 AM
He simply said my name. Then, we just… were. Two souls together in one spot. The way shades linger, it looks mournful, right? But it isn't always.
Stay with us, we who love you! Do not go
searching for danger out on restless seas!
searching for danger out on restless seas!
November 26, 2025 at 12:55 AM
Stay with us, we who love you! Do not go
searching for danger out on restless seas!
searching for danger out on restless seas!
You came and I was crazy for you, and you cooled my mind that burned with longing.
November 25, 2025 at 10:55 PM
You came and I was crazy for you, and you cooled my mind that burned with longing.
Redd might not approve of the plan, but he would follow Greyson to the ends of this world and the next.
November 25, 2025 at 8:55 PM
Redd might not approve of the plan, but he would follow Greyson to the ends of this world and the next.
When they ask me for my last words, I know what they'll be: I loved every cell that makes you who you are, and everything between.
November 25, 2025 at 6:58 PM
When they ask me for my last words, I know what they'll be: I loved every cell that makes you who you are, and everything between.
It ends or it doesn’t. That’s what you say. That’s how you get through it. The tunnel, the night, the pain, the love. It ends or it doesn’t.
November 25, 2025 at 4:55 PM
It ends or it doesn’t. That’s what you say. That’s how you get through it. The tunnel, the night, the pain, the love. It ends or it doesn’t.
Part of heroism is being able to see the future and still remain standing. If you don't believe in God or Fate you still must believe in narrative.
November 25, 2025 at 2:55 PM
Part of heroism is being able to see the future and still remain standing. If you don't believe in God or Fate you still must believe in narrative.
I just need a quiet place where I can scream how I love you.
November 25, 2025 at 12:55 PM
I just need a quiet place where I can scream how I love you.