I am fed up. I am fed up with tears and weakness. But there isn't much I can do to stop them.

I love Tris the Divergent, who makes decisions apart from faction loyalty, who isn’t some faction archetype. But the Tris who’s trying as hard as she can to destroy herself … I can’t love her.

Four!" I call out. Why am I calling a number? Oh yes. Because that's his name. — Tris.

Just as I have insisted on his worth, he has always insisted on my strength, insisted that my capacity is greater than I believe. And I know, without being told, that's what love does, when it's right-it makes you more than you were, more than you thought you could be. This is right.

My father has a way of persuading people without charm that has always confused me. He states his opinions as if they’re facts, and somehow his complete lack of doubt makes you believe him. That quality frightens me now, because I know what he told me: that I was broken, that I was worthless, that I was nothing. How many of those things did he make me believe?

The truth is... you are hurting me. Not on purpose, I know that. But I love you and every second that you don´t love me back...it hurts.

I feel empty, not because of sadness, but because of relief, all the tension flowing out of me.