Quote

Do the elevators work? I ask Uriah, as quietly as I can. Sure they do. says Zeke, rolling his eyes, You think I'm stupid enough not to come here early and turn on the emergency generator? Yeah, says Uriah. I kinda do.

Veronica Roth

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Veronica Roth
Age: 36
Born: 1988
Born: August 19
Novelist
Science Fiction Writer
Writer
New York City
New York
Veronica Anne Roth
Come
Stupid
Elevators
Enough
Says
Emergency
Work
Turn
Emergencies
Think
Eyes
Kinda
Thinking
Asks
Quietly
Sure
Rolling
Turns
Yeah
Uriah
Eye
Early
Generator

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He pulls me over the railing and against his chest, gathering me into his arms, easing an arm under my knees. I press my face into his shoulder, and there is a sudden, hollow silence.
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It doesn't take skill to stand in a place were no bullets find you, or to fire into the dark and hit a man you didn't see.
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Why is your heart racing Tris?
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But maybe what I saw as fearless was actually fear under control.
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Let me get this straight. So you left the Dauntless compound to get ready for war... and took your makeup bag with you? Yep. Figured it would be harder for anyone to shoot me if they saw how devastatingly attractive I was.
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It is amazing how pretending to be in a different faction changes everything -- even the way I walk. That must be why it's so strange that I could easily belong in three of them.
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Maybe there's more we all could have done, but we just have to let the guilt remind us to do better next time.
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That's what love does. When it's right, it makes you more than you were, more than you thought you could be.
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I wake wondering how I did not notice, every day I sat across from her at the breakfast table, that she was full to bursting with Dauntless energy. Was it because she hid it well? Or was it because I wasn't looking?
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I will be my undoing, If I become my obsession. I will forget the ones I love, If I do not serve them. I will war with others, If I refuse to see them. Therefore, I choose to turn away From my reflection, To rely not on myself But on my brothers and sisters, To project always outward Until I disappear [And only God remains.]
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Color fills her cheeks, and I think it again: that Johanna Reyes might still be beautiful. Except now I think that she isn't just beautiful in spite of the scar, she's somehow beautiful with it, like Lynn with her buzzed hair, like Tobias with the memories of his father's cruelty that he wears like armor, like my mother in her plain gray clothing.
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If Eric thinks I did something right, I must have done it wrong.
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She is well practiced in the art of losing herself.
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I don't want to try to live up to someone who's created something so incredible. I'm just trying to focus on what I'm doing and what I do best. It's sometimes hard to focus in and only think about my books rather than how they measure up to someone else's.
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They all laugh. We all laugh. And it occurs to me that I might be meeting Tobias's true faction. They are not characterized by a particular virtue. They claim all colors, all activities, all virtues, and all flaws as their own.
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Why do people want to pretend that death is sleep? It isn't. It isn't.
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I don't see any elderly people in the crowd. Are there any old Dauntless? Do they not last that long, or are they just sent away when they can't jump off moving trains anymore?
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Writing means not just staring ugliness in the face, but finding a way to embrace it.
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Every tattoo I got with them is a mark of their friendship, and almost every time I have laughed in this dark place was because of them. I don’t want to lose them. But I feel like I have already.
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Sometimes crying or laughing are the only options left, and laughing feels better right now.
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