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It reminds me that no embrace will ever feel the same again, because no one will ever be like her again, because she's gone. She's gone, and crying feels so useless, so stupid, but it's all I can do.

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
Embrace
Stupid
Gone
Ever
Feel
Reminds
Feels
Crying
Like
Useless
Cry

More quotes by Veronica Roth

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Four grabs a bar with each hand and pulls himself up, easy, like he's sitting up in bed. But he is not comfortable or natural here--- every muscle in his arm stands out. it is a stupid thing for me to think when I am one hundred feet off the ground.
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I am wearing a gray shirt, blue jeans, black shoes--new clothes, but beneath them, my Dauntless tattoos. It is impossible to erase my choices. Especially these.
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Being honest doesn't mean you say whatever you want, wherever you want. It means that what you choose to say is true.
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We are not the same. But we are, somehow, one.
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I’d rather eat out of a can than be strangled by a faction.
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I feel like someone breathed new air into my lungs. I am not Abnegation. I am not Dauntless. I am Divergent.
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All I can do is stand still- I feel like if I just stand still, I can stop it from being true, I can pretend that everything is all right.
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His hands skim my bare arms. “Just bounce a little when you walk,” he says, kissing my forehead, “and pretend you’re afraid of their guns” —another kiss between my eyebrows— “and act like the shrinking violet you could never be ”—a kiss on my cheek— “and you’ll be fine.
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Honesty leads to peace.
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You die, I die too.” Tobias looks over his shoulder at me. “I asked you not to do this. You made your decision. These are the repercussions.
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I feel like myself, strong and weak at once - allowed, at least for a little while, to be both.
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Are you asking me to undress, Tris?' A nervous laugh gurgles from my throat. 'Only ... partially
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It's Not sacrifice if it's someone else's life you're giving away, it's just evil.
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I should probably be afraid. But instead a hysterical laugh bubbles inside me, because I just remembered something: Maybe I can’t hold a gun. But I have a knife in my back pocket.
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What makes you different, makes you dangerous.
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Then everyone can call you Six.” “Four and Six,” I say.
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I wonder if fears ever really go away, or if they just lose their power over us.
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By the time we leave, I have red lips and curled eyelashes, and I’m wearing a bright red dress. And there’s a knife strapped to the inside of my knee. This all makes perfect sense.
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That's the first time I've ever said those words out loud, and now I hear how strange they are. How many young men fear that there is a monster instead them? People are supposed to fear others, not themselves.
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i happen to enjoy categorization.
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