If they told us what to believe, and we didn't come to it on our own, is it still true?

I try to catch my breath and calm myself down, but it isn't easy. I was dead. I was dead, and then i wasn't, and why? Because of Peter? Peter? I stare at him. He still looks so innocent, despite all that he has done to prove that he is not. His hair lies smooth against his head, shiny and dark, like we didn't just run for a mile at full speed. His round eyes scan the stairwell and then rest on my face. "What?" he says. "Why are you looking at me like that?" " How did you do it?" I say.

Soon I will honor my parents by dying as they died. and if all they believed about death was true, soon I will join them in whatever comes next.

That our world is so massive that it is completely out of our control, that we cannot possibly be as large as we feel.

Tris.” I keep staring. “Tris.” I finally look at him. “I just don’t want to lose you.

And sometimes, if you want the truth, you have to demand it.

His hands skim my bare arms. “Just bounce a little when you walk,” he says, kissing my forehead, “and pretend you’re afraid of their guns” —another kiss between my eyebrows— “and act like the shrinking violet you could never be ”—a kiss on my cheek— “and you’ll be fine.