Bryan Procter

Death is the tyrant of the imagination.

Oh, the summer night, Has a smile of light, And she sits on a sapphire throne.

There's not a wind but whispers of thy name; And not a flow'r that grows beneath the moon, But in its hues and fragrance tells a tale Of thee, my love.

What is drama but life with the dull bits cut out.

I have a naturally camp sensibility and a camp sense of humour. I love the icons that gay people love.

Well, I actually wrote her a letter a couple of days ago congratulating her. The tone I tried to convey in the letter is, look, you are a part of a great American historical process.