Astrid Jones személy
Idézetek
Dancing and drinking. Two things very low on my list of priorities, along with sex, kickboxing and becoming a rodeo star.
An hour ago, I wasn’t going anywhere tonight. I think: Maybe it’s okay that people talk you into things. Maybe if they didn’t, you’d never go anywhere.
My secret is bigger than her secret, because nobody knows it yet.
Not even me.
What if we can’t get in? What if Jeff says no? What if we get caught? What if I get hit on by women who are old enough to be my mother? What if Dee goes there and all my worlds collide? What if people see us? What if I get an answer?
What if I get an answer?
What if. I get. An answer?
I hear my dad’s voice: You have to let people get to know you before you decide they don’t like you.
“Whatever,” the blond who’s telling the story says. “It’s about our freedom. To be who we are, whether we recognize gays or not.”
[…] I replace the word gays from her sentence with these other words: blacks, Hispanics, immigrants, women, people of mixed race, Jehovah’s Witnesses, Gypsies, Russians, Poles, Yugoslavians, Ukrainians, mentally and physically disabled.
Everybody’s always looking for the person they’re better than.
I mean, I’m usually Astrid Jones, pacifist poet type who doesn’t usually pick fights outside of correcting your grammar.
This whole notion of perfection intrigues me. How can we say nobody’s perfect if there is no perfect to compare to? Perfection implies that there really is a right and wrong way to be. And what type of perfection is the best type? Moral perfection? Aesthetic? Physiological? Mental?