And I'm the kind of person who does not let inconsequential things like boys and near death experiences stop her.

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

I am no longer Tris, the selfless, or Tris, the brave. I suppose that now, I must become more than either.

I want people to come away from my book with questions. Questions about virtue and goodness. Not answers.

I can’t leave now. I like her too much. There, I said it. But I won’t say it again.

Beatrice. We should think of our family. But. But we must also think of ourselves.

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?