From Paper Towns:
“Can we call Ben then?”
“No. Ben’s an asshole.”
Radar looked at me sideways. “Of course he is. You know your problem, Quentin? You keep expecting people not to be themselves. I mean, I could hate you for being massively unpunctual and for never being interested in anything other than Margo Roth Spiegelman, and for, like, never asking me about how it’s going with my girlfriend – but I don’t give a shit, man, because you’re you. My parents have a shit ton of black Santas, but that’s okay. They’re them. I’m too obsessed with a reference Web site to answer my phone sometimes when my friends call, or my girlfriend. That’s okay, too. That’s me. You like me anyway. And I like you. You’re funny, and you’re smart, and you may show up late, but you always show up eventually.”
I thought about putting this in the Notebook of Beautiful Words. I haven’t come to a decision on that because these words, while they contain a lot of truth, aren’t necessarily beautiful. Which is okay. Truth does not have to be beautiful. Beautiful things do not have to be true.
So I’ll leave all that there, and go hike up a hill by myself.