Pride blinds people to the truth of what they are.

I'm not Dauntless - I'm Divergent. I am whatever I choose to be.

Then everyone can call you Six.” “Four and Six,” I say.

I am a child. I am two feet tall, and asking if she loves me.

I shield my eyes from the sun to see her cold look—the expression I saw in my mind even before I looked at her. She looks older to me than she ever has, stern and tough and worn by time. I feel that way, too. “These people have no regard for human life,” she says. “They’re about to wipe the memories of all our friends and neighbors. They’re responsible for the deaths of a large majority of our old faction.” She sidesteps me and marches toward the door. “I think they’re lucky I’m not going to kill them.

Why would the factionless have a high Divergent population?" It sounds like she's smirking. "Obviously those who can't confine themselves to a particular way of thinking would be most likely to leave a faction or fail its initiation, right?

She wanted us to have more than five choices. Now we have none.