How could I pretend to be a victim when I was so willing to sin?
I just liked girls because I couldn't help not to.
In the embrace's release I caught the scent again. Unmistakable. Marijuana. These homos were high as kites.
But I couldn't ever make that dream happen. It just came on its own, the way dreams do.
I felt all the ways in which this world seemed so, so enormous--the height of the trees, the hush and tick of the forest, the shift of the sunlight and shadows--but also so, so removed.
You can't catch somebody doing something when they're not hiding.
Maybe I still haven't become me. I don't know how you tell for sure when you finally have.
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