We are not the same. But we are, somehow, one.

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

I figured I would shoot the bullets out of my nostrils, so I left [the gun] upstairs.

He turns toward me. I want to touch him, but I’m afraid of his bareness; afraid that he will make me bare too. ‘Is this scaring you, Tris?’ ‘No,’ I croak. I clear my throat. ‘Not really. I’m only…afraid of what I want.’ ‘What do you want?’ Then his face tightens. ‘Me?’ Slowly I nod.

You know what mom told me once? She said that everyone has some evil inside them, and the first step to loving anyone is to recognize the same evil in ourselves, so we're able to forgive them.

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

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