It's strange how a word, a phrase, a sentence, can feel like a blow to the head.

She tips her chin up and looks at me with that Abnegation stubbornness I know so well. She may have left them, but they are what’s making her strong.

It happened. It was awful. You aren't perfect. That's all there is. Don't confuse your grief with guilt.

Today you will choose your factions. Until this point you have followed your parents’ paths, your parents’ rules. Today you will find your own path, make your own rules.

The theory is that if you spill all your secrets, you'll have no desire to lie about anything, ever again. Like the worst about you is already in the open, so why not just be honest?

I feel the urge, familiar now, to wrench myself from my body and speak directly into her mind. It is the same urge, I realize, that makes me want to kiss her every time I see her, because even a sliver of distance between us is infuriating. Our fingers, loosely woven a moment ago, now clutch together, her palm tacky with moisture, mine rough in places where I have grabbed too many handles on too many moving trains. Now she looks pale and small, but her eyes make me think of wide-open skies that I have never actually seen, only dreamed of.

You're not very nice," I say, grinning. "You're one to talk." "Hey, I could be nice if I tried." "Hmm." He taps his chin. "Say something nice, then." "You're very good-looking." He smiles, his teeth a flash in this dark. "I like this 'nice' thing.