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.

But I think that no matter how smart, people usually see what they're already looking for, that's all.

I ignore my fear,” he says. “When I make decisions, I pretend it doesn’t exist.” I stare at him for a second. I can’t help it. To me there’s a difference between not being afraid and acting in spite of fear, as he does.

If I let a little of the emotion out, all of it will come out, and it will never end.

Humans can't tolerate emptiness for long.

Take a person’s memories, and you change who they are.

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