Quotes About Authenticity

Before I die, I want to...be the person I'm meant to be and have that be enough.

I guess you can be yourself, whatever that means-the best and worst of you. And they love you anyway. You can fight, but even when you're mad at them, you know they're not going to stop being your friend.

Never bullshit a bullshitter.

It's my experience that the people who are most afraid are the ones who hide behind mean and threatening words.

I've always been different, but to me different is normal. i decide on a version of the truth.

You have to live your life like you'll never be sorry. It's easier just to do the right thing from the start so there's nothing to apologize for.

I love: the way her eyes spark when we're talking or when she's telling me something she wants me to know, the way she mouths the words herself when she's reading and concentrating, the way she looks at me as if there's only me, as if she can past the flesh and bone and bullshit right into the me that's there, the one I don't even see myself.

I am not perfect. I have secrets. I am messy. Not just my bedroom but me. No one likes messy.

I want to say It's okay to be a person. We're all afraid. We all get hurt. It's okay to hurt. You'd be so much more likable if you just acted human.

So what makes you angry?` `Stupid people. Fake people. Mean people. Death. I worry about dying all the time. Like, all the time.

I wanted to write something tough, hard, sad, but funny.

Which of my feelings are real? Which of the mes is me?

This girl," I tell Rachel. "That's not what I look like. That's not who I am." I have a feeling Rachel will get this because she pretended to be straight all through high school, even though she figured out she was a lesbian when she was in eighth grade. I say it again, "That's not me." Her eyes light up. "Great. Let's see if we can find her.

You know, that's what you've been doing in a way--coming out. Coming out of your room. Coming out of your house. Coming out of your shell.

She was my best friend." "I've never had one. What's it like?" "I don't know. I guess you can be yourself, whatever that means—the best and the worst of you. And they love you anyway. You can fight, but even when you're mad at them, you know they're not going to stop being your friend.

You never know what someone's hiding. We all hide ourselves when we need to.

But it was a damn good smile. A genuine one, which is hard to come by these days." -Finch

Tell her what she wants to hear. But I don't because suddenly I can't do it anymore. She's exhausting and I'm exhausting, and we're exhausting. I've been telling her what she wants to hear for the past four years.

I've always been different, but to me different is normal.

I love: the way her eyes spark when we're talking or when she's telling me something she wants me to know, the way she mouths the words to herself when she's reading and concentrating, the way she looks at me as if there's only me, as if she can see past the flesh and bone and bullshit right into the me that's there, the one I don't even see myself.

You dress to please yourself. If she doesn't like you for you, then you don't need her.' All of this would be fine if I knew exactly who me for me was.

Besides, I kind of like my face intact like this, two eyes, one nose, one mouth, a full set of teeth, which, if I'm being honest, is one of my better features.

Be the person I'm meant to be and have that be enough.

Writing was what I did best, better than being a daughter or girlfriend or sister. Writing was me.