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I wonder if fears ever really go away, or if they just lose their power over us.

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
Power
Ever
Really
Love
Fears
Lose
Loses
Wonder

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People, I have discovered, are layers and layers of secrets. You believe you know them, that you understand them, but their motives are always hidden from you, buried in their own hearts. You will never know them, but sometimes you decide to trust them.
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He moves his thumb in a slow circle over the back of my hand. It is meant to comfort me, but it frustrates me instead. I need to talk to him. I need to look at him.
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She is well practiced in the art of losing herself.
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I guess I always knew there was something wrong with me, but I thought it was because of my father, or my mother, and the pain they bequeathed to me like a family heirloom, handed down from generation to generation. - Tobias Eaton
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That's why you like me!' I exclaim. 'Because you're not nice either! It makes so much more sense now.' 'Come on,' he says. 'We're going to see Johanna.' 'I like you, too.' 'That's encouraging,' he replies flatly. 'Come on. Oh for God's sake. I'll just carry you.
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The first step to loving someone else is to recognize the evil in ourselves, so we can forgive them.
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Reading is such a huge part of my life.
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Human reason can excuse any evil.
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Sorry, am I being rude? she asks. I'm used to saying whatever is on my mind. Mom used to say that politeness is deception in pretty packaging
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What did you do? I scream. You die, I die too.
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Aren’t you going to ask me if I’m all right?” I say. “No, I’m pretty sure you’re not all right.” He shakes his head. “I’m going to ask you not to make any decisions until we’ve talked about it.
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I could never hurt him enough to make his betrayal stop hurting. And it hurts, in every part of my body.
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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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Take away someone’s fear, or low intelligence, or dishonesty . . . and you take away their compassion. Take away someone’s aggression and you take away their motivation, or their ability to assert themselves. Take away their selfishness and you take away their sense of self-preservation.
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He pulls me over the railing and against his chest, gathering me into his arms, easing an arm under my knees. I press my face into his shoulder, and there is a sudden, hollow silence.
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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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His fingers leave streaks of cold on my skin, invisible to the eye, and I think about wrapping his shirt around my fist and pulling him in to kiss me I think about pressing myself against him, but I can't, because all our secrets would keep a space between us.
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Leaving us with Eric is like hiring a babysitter who spends his time sharpening knives.
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He gives me a conflicted look and touches his lips to my forehead, right between my eyebrows. I close my eyes. I don't understand this, whatever it is. But I don't want to ruin it, so I say nothing. He doesn't move he just stays there with his mouth pressed to my skin, and I stay there with my hands on his waist, for a long time.
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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.
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