Everything inside me screams for just one more kiss, one more word, one more glance, one more.

The division is based on knowledge, based on qualifications - but as I learned from the factionless, a system that relies on a group of uneducated people to do its dirty work without giving them a way to rise is hardly fair.

I don't believe it is more important to move forward than to know the truth.

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

I was angry with him before. I’m not really sure why. Maybe I was just angry that the world had become such a complicated place, that I have never known even a fraction of the truth about it. Or that I allowed myself to grieve for someone who was never really gone, the same way I grieved for my mother all the years I thought she was dead. Tricking someone into grief is one of the cruelest tricks a person can play, and it’s been played on me twice.

Since he saved me from the attack, I have associated his smell with safety, so as long as I focus on it, I feel safe now.

I watch her blond head until it disappears around the bend, and I feel bare, like there's nothing left to protect me against pain. Her absence stings worst of all.