Цитаты из книги Thirteen Reasons Why

Betrayal. It's one of the worst feelings.

I hate not knowing what to believe anymore. I hate not knowing what's real.

But sometimes there’s nothing left to do but move on.

I could picture life—school and everything else—continuing on without me. But I could not picture my funeral. Not at all. Mostly because I couldn’t imagine who would attend or what they would say.

A week went by and nothing. But eventually, as they always will, the rumors reached me. And everyone knows you can't disprove a rumor.

What you don't understand, you can make mean anything.

Normally when a person has a stellar image another person's waiting in the wings to tear them apart. They're waiting for that one fatal flaw to expose itself.

After all, how often do we get a second chance?

And after I dropped him off, I took the longest possible route home... I explored alleys and hidden roads I never knew existed. I discovered neighborhoods entirely new to me. And finally... I discovered I was sick of this town and everything in it.

Because when you're posed, you know someone's watching. You put on your very best smile. You let your sweetest personality shine.

You can hear rumors. But you can't know them.

That's why you did it. You wanted your world to collapse around you. You wanted everything to get as dark as possible.

Fun drunks make a nice addition to any party. Not looking to fight. Not looking to score. Just looking to get drunk and laugh.

Maybe it didn’t seem like a big deal to you Zach. But now, I hope you understand. My world was collapsing. I needed those notes. I needed any hope those notes might have offered. And you? You took that hope away. You decided I didn’t deserve to have it.

I'm listening to someone give up. Someone I knew—someone I liked. I'm listening... but still, I'm too late.

I sat. And I thought. And the more I thought, connecting the events in my life, the more my heart collapsed.

A flood of emotions rushes into me. Pain and anger. Sadness and pity. But most surprising of all, hope.

I wanted people to trust me, despite anything they'd heard. And more than that, I wanted them to know me. Not the stuff they thought they knew about me. No, the real me. I wanted them to get past the rumors. To see beyond the relationships I once had, or maybe still had but that they didn't agree with.

Like driving along a bumpy road and losing control of the steering wheel, tossing you—just a tad—off the road. The wheels kick up some dirt, but you're able to pull it back. Yet no matter how hard you try to drive straight, something keeps jerking you to the side. You have so little control over anything anymore. And at some point, the struggle becomes too much—too tiring—and you consider letting go. Allowing tragedy... or whatever... to happen.

When you try rescuing someone and discover they can't be reached, why would you ever throw that back in their face?