Quote

I know that I am birdlike, made narrow and small as if for taking flight, built straight-waisted and fragile. But when he touches me like he can't bear to take his hand away, I don't wish I was any different.

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
Away
Straight
Hands
Bear
Take
Bears
Different
Built
Waisted
Made
Taking
Touches
Like
Hand
Narrow
Small
Fragile
Wish
Flight

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My problem might be that even if I did go home, I wouldn’t belong there, among people who give without thinking and care without trying.
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I feel his heartbeat against my cheek,as fast as my own. Are you afraid of me, too, Tobias? Terrified, he replies with a smile.
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Sarcasm is always at someone's expense.
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I'll be your family now, he says. I love you, I say. He stares at me. I wait with my hands clutching his arms for stability as he considers his response. He frowns at me. Say it again. Tobias, I say, I love you.
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That is how it feels. Like everything between us is twisted together, friendship and love and family, so I cant tell the difference between any of them.
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I glance at Tris. She grins at me, then leans in to whisper something to Christina. Are you here to help or what, Stiff? I say.
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One choice can transform you. One choice can destroy you. Once choice will define you.
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Where's Marcus, Destroyer of Lives, going to meet us?
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But now I’m wondering if I need it anymore, if we ever really need these words, “Dauntless,” “Erudite,” “Divergent,” “Allegiant,” or if we can just be friends or lovers or siblings, defined instead by the choices we make and the love and loyalty that binds us.
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Our eyes meet. I hear a train horn, so faint it could be wind whistling through an alleyway. But I know it when I hear it. It sounds like the Dauntless, calling me to to them.
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Caleb, I say, I love you. His eyes gleam with tear as he says, I love you, too, Beatrice.
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It's not that I ever sat down and outlined a trilogy, but I always have a sense of what size an idea is when I start it.
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Did you just call me BEATRICE?
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Looking at her is like waking up.
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Well, I already know what happened to my face, I say. I was there. Sort of
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There are men with guns up there. When they see me, they will kill me, if they can, I tell my father quietly. I search his eyes. Should I let them? He stares at me for a few seconds. Go, he says, and God help you.
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Morning, I say. Shh, she says. If you don't acknowledge it, maybe it will go away.
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It's strange how time can make a place shrink, make its strangeness ordinary.
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I feel like what I have become is halfway between my mother and my father, violent and impulsive and desperate and afraid. I feel like I have lost control of what I have become.
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