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I suppose a fire that burns that bright is not meant to last.

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
Meant
Fire
Lasts
Last
Tobias
Bedtime
Burns
Bright
Suppose

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Reading is such a huge part of my life.
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It is more important for you to be safe than right, for the time being. Understand? (...) But please, when you see an opportunity...ruin them
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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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I have to face the fear. I have to take control of the situation and find a way to make it less frightening.
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When her body first hit the net, all I registered was a gray blur. I pulled her across it and her hand was small, but warm, and then she stood before me, short and thin and plain and in all ways unremarkable- except that she had jumped first. The stiff had jumped first. Even I didn't jump first. Her eyes were so stern, so insistent. Beautiful.
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I wonder how I seem to them. They must see someone I don't see. Someone capable and strong. Someone I can't be someone I can be.
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He told me once to be brave, and though I have stood still while knives spun toward my face and jumped off a roof, I never thought I would need bravery in the small moments of my life. I do.
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i like to think that im helping them by hating them
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though he does not touch me, he steadies me.
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I am fed up. I am fed up with tears and weakness. But there isn't much I can do to stop them.
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What is it with you today?” says Christina on the way to breakfast. Her eyes are still swollen from sleep and her tangled hair forms a fuzzy halo around her face. “Oh, you know,” I say. “Sun shining. Birds chirping.” She raises an eyebrow at me, as if reminding me that we are in an underground tunnel.
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I wipe my face with my sleeve, laughing so hard my stomach hurts. If my entire life is like this, loud laughter and bold action and the kind of exhaustion you feel after a hard but satisfying day, I will be content.
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It's strange how a word, a phrase, a sentence, can feel like a blow to the head.
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I think they're going to force us to eat lots of cake and then take an unreasonably long nap.
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Thank you for your honesty, Niles says. The Candor repeat the phrase under their breath. All around me are the words Thank you for your honesty at different volumes and pitches, and my anger begins to dissolve.
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I reach out and take his hand. His fingers slide between mine. I can't breathe.
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Tricking someone into grief is one of the cruelest tricks a person can play, and its been played on me twice.
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Please. They're like the Cult of Four.
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All that land is filled with people, every one of them different, and the things they do to each other matter.
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