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She tips her chin up and looks at me with that Abnegation stubbornness I know so well. She may have left them, but they are what’s making her strong.

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
Abnegation
May
Tips
Wells
Stubbornness
Well
Chin
Looks
Chins
Making
Strong
Left

More quotes by Veronica Roth

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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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My dear girl. I am his family. I am permanent. You are only temporary.
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And I provide much- needed eye candy.
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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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Not writing is as important as writing - go out into the world and remember how interesting it, and the people in it, are.
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It's time to be with my brother now
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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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For me, it feels like driving from truth into a lie, from adulthood to childhoold. I watch the land of pavement and glass and metal turn into an empty field. The snow is falling softly now, and I can faintly see the city's skyline up ahead, the buildings just a shade darker than the clouds.
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Sometimes I still forget to look for the gentler parts of her. For so long all I saw was the strength, standing out like the wiry muscles in her arms or the black ink marking her collarbone with flight.
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I feel like myself, strong and weak at once - allowed, at least for a little while, to be both.
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Beatrice, she says. Beatrice, we have to run. She pulls my arm across her shoulders and hauls me to my feet. She is dressed like my mother and she looks like my mother, but she is holding a gun, and the determined look in her eyes is unfamiliar to me.
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Can I ask why you’re throwing knives at cheese?’ ‘Caleb came by to discuss something,’ Tobias says, leaning his head against the wall as he looks at me. ‘And knife-throwing just came up somehow.’ ‘As it so often does,’ I say, a small smile inching across my face.
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Don't you dare try to apologize. His voice shakes. This is not something you can bandage with a word or two and some hugging, or something.
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The fire, the fire. It rages within, a campfire and then an inferno, and my body is its fuel. I feel it racing through me, eating away at the weight. There is nothing that can kill me now I am powerful and invincible and eternal.
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I do trust you, is what I want to say. But it isn't true -- I didn't trust him to love me despite the terrible things I had done. I don't trust anyone to do that, but that isn't his problem it's mine.
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Fine, he says. Then I love you.
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Some people believe that I will go nowhere, and maybe they're right, but maybe they're not.
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Caleb and Tris exchange a look. The skin on his face and on her knuckles is nearly the same colour, purple-blue-green, as if drawn with ink. This is what happens when siblings collide - they injure each other in the same way.
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Now she looks pale and small, but her eyes make me think of wide- open skies that I have never actually seen, only dreamed of.
Veronica Roth