Quotes: Veronica Roth

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I didn't know that idiocy caused people to just start spontaneously bleeding from the nose.

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Fear doesn't shut you down, it wake you up

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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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I'm not Dauntless - I'm Divergent. I am whatever I choose to be.

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I laugh, and it's laughter, not light, that casts out the darkness building within me, that reminds me I am still alive, even in this strange place where everything I've ever known is coming apart.

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I want to break something, or hit something, but I am afraid to move, so I start crying instead.

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Look where they got us. Human beings as a whole cannot be good for long before the bad creeps back in and poisons us again.

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Because life is not fair, Albert. And the world is conspiring against you.

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I have something I need to tell you," he says. I run my fingers along the tendons in his hands and look back at him. "I might be in love with you." He smiles a little. "I'm waiting until I'm sure to tell you, though."
"That's sensible of you," I say, smiling too. "We should find some paper so you can make a list or a chart or something."
I feel his laughter against my side, his nose sliding along my jaw, his lips pressing my ear.
"Maybe I'm already sure," he says, "and I just don't want to frighten you."
I laugh a little. "Then you should know better."
"Fine," he says. "Then I love you.

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But there's so much that was a lie, it's hard to figure out what was true, what was real, what matters.

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People are supossed to aspire to become their fathers, not shudder at the thought.

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It would be nice if life worked this way, stripping the dirt from our lives and sending us back out into the world clean. But some dirt is destined to lingered.

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I don’t know how long i tis before we get cold again, and huddle under the blanket together.
-It’s getting more difficult to be wise. – He says,laughing into my ear.
I smile at him. – I think that’s how it’s supposed to be.

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His eyes search the crowd until they find my face. My heartbeat lives in my throat; lives in my cheeks.
"I still don't understand," he says softly, "how she knew that it would work.

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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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The opinions of others cannot damage you.

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Stupid. Why do people want to pretend
that death is sleep? It isn’t. It isn’t

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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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You’re too important to just … die.” He shakes his head. He won’t even look at me—his eyes keep shifting across my
face, to the wall behind me or the ceiling above me, to everything but me. I am too stunned to be angry.
“I’m not important. Everyone will do just fine without me,” I say.
“Who cares about everyone? What about me?

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To  me,  when  someone  wrongs  you,  you  both  share  the  burden  of  that wrongdoing—the  pain  of  it  weighs  on both  of  you.  Forgiveness,  then,  means choosing  to  bear  the  full  weight  all  by yourself.