Quote

Shh,” I say. “Arms around me.” Obediently, he slips both arms around my waist. I smile at the wall. I am not enjoying this. I am not, not even a little bit, no.

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
Around
Waist
Littles
Slips
Little
Enjoying
Even
Smile
Arms
Wall
Bits
Shh
Enjoy
Obediently

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I feel myself acting like a lunatic, but I can't stop. It would be like refusing to breathe.
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You're not very nice, I say, grinning. You're one to talk. Hey, I could be nice if I tried. Hmm. He taps his chin. Say something nice, then. You're very good-looking. He smiles, his teeth a flash in this dark. I like this 'nice' thing.
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I figured I would shoot the bullets out of my nostrils, so I left [the gun] upstairs.
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I open the door to the fear landscape room and flip open the small black box that was in my back pocket to see the syringes inside. This is the box I have always used, padded around the needles it is a sign of something sick inside me, or something brave.
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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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We're all right, you know,' he says quietly. 'You and me. Okay?' My chest aches, and I nod. 'Nothing else is all right.' His whisper tickles my cheek. 'But we are.
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Don't pretend, I say Breathily. You know I'm not. I'm not ugly, but I am certainly not pretty. Fine. You're not pretty. So? He kisses my cheek. I like how you look. You're deadly smart. You're brave.
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You nearly died today,' he says. 'I almost shot you. Why didn't you shoot me, Tris?' 'I couldn't do that,' I say. 'It would have been like shooting myself.' He looks pained and leans closer to me, so his lips brush mine when he speaks.
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Then everyone can call you Six.” “Four and Six,” I say.
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It reminds me that no embrace will ever feel the same again, because no one will ever be like her again, because she's gone. She's gone, and crying feels so useless, so stupid, but it's all I can do.
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Did you ever meet someone named Caleb? I say. 'Caleb, Fernando says. Yes, there was a Caleb in my initiate class. Brilliant, but he was... what's the colloquial term for it? A suck-up. he smirks.
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They died for me,” I say. That feels important
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Are you conceding?' he says, his mouth falling open with mock surprise. 'Seems like that serum did you some good after all...' I shove him as hard as I can. 'Take that back. Take it back now.' 'Okay, okay!' He puts up his hands. 'It's just... I'm not very nice either, you know. That's why I like you so- ' 'Out!' I shout, pointing at the door.
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All I want to say is that when you stop being delusional and start feeling desperate because you're too inept to figure this out on your own, you know who to come to.
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You know, most boys would enjoy being trapped in close quarters with a girl. I roll my eyes. Not claustrophobic people, Tris.
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We can’t survive alone, but even if we could, we wouldn't want to.
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I feel acutely aware of how young I am. In a way that is good. It's productive. It makes me realise that I should be growing as a writer and a person.
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Why do you say vague things if you don't want to be asked about them?
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