Top 759 Quotes & Sayings by Veronica Roth - Page 2

Dauntless: being brave in the midst of fear.

Then I realize what it is. It's him. Something about him makes me feel like I am about to fall. Or turn to liquid. Or burst into flames.

Grief is not as heavy as guilt, but it takes more away from you.

It reminds me why I chose Dauntless in the first place: not because they are perfect, but because they are alive. Because they are free.

Choices can be made again." -Evelyn Johnson (Eaton)

To live factionless Is not just to live in poverty and discomfort; it is to live divorced from society, separated from the most important thing in life: community. My mother once told me that we can’t survive alone,but even if we could, we wouldn’t want to. Without a faction, we have no purpose and no reason to live.

His fingers slide into my hair, and I hold on to his arms to stay steady as we press together like two blades at a stalemate. He is stronger than anyone I know, and warmer than anyone else realizes; he is a secret that I have kept, and will keep for the rest of my life.

I think you're still the only person sharp enough to sharpen someone like me.

I think they're going to force us to eat lots of cake and then take an unreasonably long nap.

I keep finding myself stifled by the company of others and then crippled by loneliness when I leave them. I am terrified and I don't even know of what, because I have lost everything already.

Human reason can excuse any evil; that is why it's so important that we don't rely on it.

No matter how long you train someone to be brave, you never know if they are or not until something real happens.

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.

You don’t believe things because they make your life better, you believe them because they’re true.

It isn’t right to wish pain on other people just because they hurt me first.

But now, I am also learning this: we can be mended. We mend each other.

I'll say it one last time: Be brave.

We believe in ordinary acts of bravery, in the courage that drives one person to stand up for another.

Reading is such a huge part of my life.

Pride is what killed Al, and it is the flaw in every Dauntless heart. It is in mine.

I feel the monster of grief again, writhing in the empty space where my heart and stomach used to be. I gasp, pressing both palms to my chest. Now the monstrous thing has its claws around my throat, squeezing my airway. I twist and put my head between my knees, breathing until the strangled feeling leaves me.

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.

Because even a sliver of distance between us is infuriating.

I am a naturally curious person. -Tris

I feel like myself, strong and weak at once - allowed, at least for a little while, to be both.

It doesn't prove anything except that you're bullying us. Which, as I recall, is a sign of cowardice.

I shield my eyes from the sun to see her cold look—the expression I saw in my mind even before I looked at her. She looks older to me than she ever has, stern and tough and worn by time. I feel that way, too. “These people have no regard for human life,” she says. “They’re about to wipe the memories of all our friends and neighbors. They’re responsible for the deaths of a large majority of our old faction.” She sidesteps me and marches toward the door. “I think they’re lucky I’m not going to kill them.

What did you do, memorize a map of the city for fun?” says Christina. “Yes,” says Will, looking puzzled. “Didn’t you?

Sometimes, all it takes to save people from a terrible fate is one person willing to do something about it. Even if that "something" is a fake bathroom break.

I can’t answer either question. But the look she gives me reminds me of the look in the attack dog’s eyes in the aptitude test – a vicious, predatory stare. She wants to rip me to pieces. I can’t lie down in submission now. I have become an attack dog too.

At home I used to spend calm, pleasant nights with my family. My mother knit scarves for the neighborhood kids. My father helped Caleb with his homework. There was a fire in the fireplace and peace in my heart, as I was doing exactly what I was supposed to be doing, and everything was quiet. I have never been carried around by a large boy, or laughed until my stomach hurt at the dinner table, or listened to the clamor of a hundred people all talking at once. Peace is restrained; this is free.

Being honest doesn't mean you say whatever you want, wherever you want. It means that what you choose to say is true.

We are not people who touch each other carelessly; every point of contact between us feels important, a rush of energy and relief.

I have to face the fear. I have to take control of the situation and find a way to make it less frightening.

Resisting is worth doing.

In order to have peace, we must first have trust.

In that moment I know exactly what I want; I want to peel away all the layers of clothing between us, strip away everything that separates us, the past and the present and the future.

He stares at me, and I don't look away. He isn't a dog, but the same rules apply. Looking away is submissive. Looking him in the eye is a challenge. It's my choice.

There is a difference between admitting and confessing. Admitting involves softening, making excuses for things that cannot be excused; confessing just names the crimes at its full severity.

...there is power in self-sacrifice.

Tris.” I keep staring. “Tris.” I finally look at him. “I just don’t want to lose you.

You won," Four mutters. "Stop." I wipe the sweat from my forehead. He stares at me. His eyes are too wide; they look alarmed.

I traded cowardice for cruelty; I traded weakness for ferocity.

I've done without doing things, like sleeping and eating, but I need to write.

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.

My name is Four,” I say. “Call me ‘Stiff’ again and you and I will have a problem.

Desperation can make a person do surprising things.

How have I never realized before that for all the strong, kind parts of him, there are also hurting, broken parts?

That's what love does. When it's right, it makes you more than you were, more than you thought you could be.

I suppose that now would be the time to ask for forgiveness for all the things I've done, but I'm sure my list would never be complete. I also don't believe that whatever comes after life depends on my correctly reciting a list of my transgressions...I don't believe that what comes after depends on anything I do at all.

I don't want to stop you. I want you to stop yourself.

Sometimes all I want is to be a few inches taller so the world does not look like a dense collection of torsos.

Shh,” I say. “Arms around me.” Obediently, he slips both arms around my waist. I smile at the wall. I am not enjoying this. I am not, not even a little bit, no.

Do I look like I’ve been crying?’ I say. ‘Hmm.’ He leans in close, narrowing his eyes like he’s inspecting my face. A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. Even closer, so we would be breathng the same air- if I could remember to breathe. ‘No, Tris,’ he says. A more serious look replaces his smile as he adds, ‘You look tough as nails.

She can't possibly be me, though she moves when I move

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.

I'm sick of doing bad things and liking it and then wondering what's wrong with me. I want it to be over. I want to start again.

Cruelty does not make a person dishonest, the same way bravery does not make a person kind.

Not writing is as important as writing - go out into the world and remember how interesting it, and the people in it, are.

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.