Amy Hatvany Quotes

Maybe he was too drunk to hear me when I told him to stop. Maybe I didn't say it loudly enough. Maybe I didn't say it enough times.

I nodded, but I didn't know how to tell her how wrong she was. That it's possible for a man to interpret a woman's initial permission as license to steamroll any boundary she may set after that. That once a woman says yes, it's possible a man might not give a shit when she changes her mind.

I think under the right set of circumstances," Mason said, carefully, his eyes not leaving mine, "pretty much anyone is capable of horrific behavior.

i stand up and open the cupboards, cruising for something-anything- to eat. there's nothing- only a stale loaf of bread in my refrigerator and a single slice of moldy cheese. i've been living off coffee and takeout. i decide to go shopping and use up the hours and minutes that torture me with their lack of direction. i used to have a compass. i used to have charlie.

I spent my whole life just killing time- waiting and waiting-waiting for something to change, even though I had absolutely no idea what that might be. I waited for the day to end. I waited in fear for the next day to begin. I waited and waited and waited and lied to myself that magically it would be all right.

Our society always seems to blame the victim not the perpetrator, for a sexual crime. It says a woman shouldn't dress provocatively or drink alcohol or have any kind of flirtation or interaction with a man because that means she is asking for him to do whatever he wants to do to her, even after she tells him no.

to meet, despite the time, the place, and despite the circumstances.

A man doesn't have to be evil in order to sexually assault women," Vanessa said. "Most rapists don't look like what we're programmed to believe they should – they're not greasy-haired monsters who jump out from behind the bushes and tie up their victims in their basements. More often, they're someone's typical father, husband, brother, or son – but what they do to women is monstrous.

The girl I'd been just an hour ago was gone; she'd been obliterated. I had no idea who I was, now.

Well, you know what procrastination and masturbation have in common, don't you?" She waits a beat, then answers her own question. "When it comes right down to it, you only end up screwing yourself.

Holding on to resentments is like drinking poison and hoping the other person will die.

No, I thought. No way. I love her too much. I would never do that. And then again, those two words, her voice, exploding inside my head: "Tyler, wait!

Cancer is tangible. People feel compassion for you if you get cancer. Not so much if you're an alcoholic. And a mother who drinks? Forget it. Straight to hell. Big fat scarlet letter branded on our foreheads for life. Me and Hester Prynne? Same letter, different sins.

It's just drinks," Heather said, lifting the second cocktail up and smiling at the men, too. "It doesn't mean anything else."
I nodded, but I didn't know how to tell her how wrong she was. That it's possible for a man to interpret a woman's initial permission as license to steamroll over any boundary she might set after that. That once a woman says yes, it's possible a man might not give a shit when she changes her mind. He might tear off her clothes; he might bruise her body and send splinters of blistering fear into her soul. He might do this even if he's someone she knows, someone she loves and trusts. And then she might end up in a bar with a fake smile plastered on her face, trying to act like none of it mattered, trying to believe, despite the agony deep down inside her bones, that she's over what he did, desperate to pretend she's safe.

There are some wounds unreachable by words, some sins immune to apology.