A Single Man Monologues

An English professor, one year after the sudden death of his boyfriend, is unable to cope with his typical days in 1960s Los Angeles.

A few times in my life I've had moments of absolute clarity, when for a few brief seconds the silence drowns out the noise and I can feel rather than think, and things seem so sharp. And the world seems so fresh as though it had all just come into existence. I can never make these moments last. I cling to them, but like everything, they fade. I have lived my life on these moments. They pull me back to the present, and I realize that everything is exactly the way it was meant to be.

Let's leave the Jews out of this just for a moment. Let's think of another minority. One that… One that can go unnoticed if it needs to. There are all sorts of minorities, blondes for example… Or people with freckles. But a minority is only thought of as one when it constitutes some kind of threat to the majority. A real threat or an imagined one. And therein lies the fear. If the minority is somehow invisible, then the fear is much greater. That fear is why the minority is persecuted. So, you see there always is a cause. The cause is fear. Minorities are just people. People like us.

You know that only thing that has made the whole thing worthwhile has been those few times that I was able to truly connect with another person.

If one is not enjoying one's present, there isn't a great deal to suggest that the future should be any better.

It takes time in the morning for me to become George, time to adjust to what is expected of George and how he is to behave. By the time I have dressed and put the final layer of polish on the now slightly stiff but quite perfect George I know fully what part I'm supposed to play.

I always used to tell him that only fools could possibly escape the simple truth that now isn't simply now: it's a cold reminder. One day later than yesterday, one year later than last year, and that sooner or later it will come.

Waking up begins with saying am and now. For the past eight months waking up has actually hurt. The cold realization that I am still here slowly sets in.

For the first time in my life I can't see my future. Every day goes by in a haze, but today I have decided will be different.

Looking in the mirror staring back at me isn't so much a face as the expression of a predicament.

It's all becoming so bland. That's not why I came to America. It's like a complete breakdown of culture and manners.

Go to London. Change your life. And if you're not happy being a woman, stop acting like one.

Let's leave the Jews out of this just for a moment and think of another minority, one that can go unnoticed if it has to.

There's no such thing as old anymore. The other day, one of my students called me a senior citizen.