The Year They Burned the Books

I want to be your friend, Jamie. I want to go on being your friend, always, no matter what.

I hate it when people are cruel, and that’s what hate speech is, and that’s why I was so mad.

“If I were gay,” Tessa said, looking out Jamie’s window, “I don’t think I’d hide it. Or I’d hide it completely, never give anyone a clue.”

I like writing better than talking.

I’m pretty sure of one thing: that people, no matter what they believe or what their differences are, have to be able to live together without hurting each other. Maybe that’s the one true truth, the one I most want to work toward for the rest of my life …

Maybe truth is a lot more elusive than I thought.

Now I’ve got to stop falling in love with people who can’t love me back—well, who can’t love me back in the same way.

I’m the same person I always was, really. It’s just that you know me better now.

but sometimes it takes a dramatic symbol or act to bring people to their senses.

Maybe because saying them would make it true.
But it was true.
Wasn’t it?