It’s like he knows, he knows I have a thing for her.
Yeah, sometimes life really sucks. But you know what I’m holding on for? The moments that don’t suck. The trick is to notice them when they come around.
I am no longer Tris, the selfless, or Tris, the brave. I suppose that now, I must become more than either.
Abnegation produces deeply serious people. People who automatically see things like need, he says. I’ve noticed that when people switch to Dauntless, it creates some of the same types. Erudite who switch to Dauntless tend to turn cruel and brutal. Candor who switch to Dauntless tend to become boisterous, fight-picking adrenaline junkies. And Abnegation who switch to Dauntless become . . . I don’t know, soldiers, I guess. Revolutionaries.
I feel myself acting like a lunatic, but I can’t stop. It would be like refusing to breathe.
Candor does not provide us with protection, sustenance, or technological innovation. Therefore you are expendable to us.
We are not people who touch each other carelessly; every point of contact between us feels important, a rush of energy and relief.
So you’re her brother? Says Linn. I guess we know who got the good genes.
This concept could easily have gone awry. Stories about love tend to go that way sometimes. They wander into the realm of cheese and never return, which I think is a shame, because there is a way to write about romantic love without breaking out the Velveeta.
We share a common enemy, but does that make us friends?
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?
Dauntless: being brave in the midst of fear.
