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I laugh shakily. ‘You’re a little scary, Four.’ ‘Do me a favor,’ he says, ‘and don’t call me that.’ ‘What should I call you, then?’ ‘Nothing.’ He takes his hand from my face. ‘Yet.

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
Four
Favor
Call
Favors
Face
Scary
Faces
Laugh
Hands
Laughing
Littles
Says
Little
Takes
Nothing
Hand

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...there is power in self-sacrifice.
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Those who blamed aggression formed Amity.’… ‘Those who blamed ignorance became the Erudite.’… ‘Those who blamed duplicity created Candor.’… ‘Those who blamed selfishness made Abnegation.’… ‘And those who blamed cowardice were the Dauntless.
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Maybe it's a little depressing to think that my vision of a perfect world is actually so messed up, but I think it means that I don't really understand what 'perfect' is.
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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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He stares at me, and I don't look away. He isn't a dog, but the same rules apply. Looking away is submissive. Looking him in the eye is a challenge. It's my choice.
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We believe in ordinary acts of bravery, in the courage that drives one person to stand up for another.
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Because even a sliver of distance between us is infuriating.
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Inquisitiveness is self-serving, Johanna. -Marcus Eaton
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He should be the one to die, part of me thinks. I don't want to lose him, another part argues. I don't know which part to believe.
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What do I believe? I do not know I do not know I do not know.
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But now, I am also learning this: we can be mended. We mend each other.
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I love you. He frowns. Say it again. Tobias, I say. I love you.
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I know I belong in Dauntless because everything I did in that aptitude test told me so. I'm loyal to my faction for that reason -- because there's nowhere else I could possibly be. But her? And you? She shakes her head. I have no idea who you're loyal to. And I'm not going to pretend like everything's okay.
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Leave her out of this Why? Because you're doing her? Oh wait, I forgot. Stiffs don't do that sort of thing
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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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Instead I just let the silence stretch out between us. It's the only adequate response to what he just told me, the only that does the tragedy any justice instead of patching it hastily and moving on.
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People talk about the pain of grief, but I don't know what they mean. To me, grief is a devastating numbness, every sensation dulled.
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I reach out and take his hand. His fingers slide between mine. I can't breathe.
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Not like Tobias, who is almost shy when he smiles, like he is surprised you bothered to look at him in the first place.
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I can't tell him I need him. I can't need him, period -- or really, we can't need each other, because who knows how long either of us will last in this war?
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