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

I hear footsteps and Four's hands wrap around my wrists. I let him pry my hands from my eyes. He encloses one of my hands perfectly between two of his. The warmth of his skin overwhelms the ache in my fingers from holding the bars. "You all right?" he asks, pressing our hands together. "Yeah." He starts to laugh.

Sometimes pain is for the greater good.

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

I also don't believe that whatever come after life depends on my correctly reciting a list of my transgressions-that sounds too much like an Erudite afterlife to me, all accuracy and no feeling.

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?

I never used to understand why people bothered to hold hands as they walked, but then he runs one of his fingertips down my palm, and I shiver and understand it completely