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Sometimes,” he says, sliding his arm across my shoulders, “people just want to be happy, even if it’s not real.

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
People
Shoulders
Across
Arms
Says
Happy
Sometimes
Real
Insurgent
Even
Sliding

More quotes by Veronica Roth

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In that moment I know exactly what I want I want to peel away all the layers of clothing between us, strip away everything that separates us, the past and the present and the future.
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Today you will choose your factions. Until this point you have followed your parents’ paths, your parents’ rules. Today you will find your own path, make your own rules.
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Tris.” I keep staring. “Tris.” I finally look at him. “I just don’t want to lose you.
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He is strong, and lithe, and certain. And he is mine.
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Sarcasm is always at someone's expense.
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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.
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When you're a writer, you hear your internal critic, and that's really hard to get over. And then sometimes you hear critiques from classmates and stuff. But when a book comes out, it's just hundreds of opinions and you have to learn to separate out the ones you want to listen to or figure out many you want to listen to.
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Your daughter is doing well here. I've been overseeing her training. Since when does overseeing include throwing knives at me and scolding me at every opportunity?
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If utopian fiction became the new trend, I wouldn't read it.
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I want to cry because something terrible happened, and I saw it, and I could not see a way to mend it.
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What did you do? I scream. You die, I die too.
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The shouts of triumph become infectious, and I lift my voice to join in, running toward my teammates. Christina holds the flag up high, and everyone clusters around her, grabbing her arm to lift the flag even higher. I can't reach her, so I stand off to the side, grinning. A hand touches my shoulder. Well done, Four says quietly.
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The person you became with her is worth being.
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You’re too important to just … die.” He shakes his head. He won’t even look at me—his eyes keep shifting across my face, to the wall behind me or the ceiling above me, to everything but me. I am too stunned to be angry. “I’m not important. Everyone will do just fine without me,” I say. “Who cares about everyone? What about me?
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He touches my face, covering my cheeks with his hands, sliding his fingertips down my neck, fitting his fingers to the slight curve of my hips. I can't stop.
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Our ability to know about ourselves and the world is what makes us human
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There's really no way to be perfect. Perfectionism is a silly trait to have, so in a lot of ways that inspired the world of 'Divergent,' in which everyone is striving toward that ideal and falling short of it.
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Maybe forgiveness is just the continual pushing aside of bitter memories, until time dulls the hurt and anger, and the wrong is forgotten.
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She taught me all about real sacrifice. That it should be done from love... That it should be done from necessity, not without exhausting all other options. That it should be done for people who need your strength because they don't have enough of their own.
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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.
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