No factions? A world in which no one knows who they are or where they fit? I can't even fathom it. I imagine only chaos and isolation.

I just wanted to thank you' he says, his voice low. 'A group of scientists told you that my genes were damaged, that there was something wrong with me - they showed you the test results that proved it. And even I started to believe it.' He touches my face, his thumb skimming my cheekbone, and his eyes are on mine, intense and insistent. 'You never believed it,' he says 'Not for a second. You always insisted I was... I don't know, whole.

Sometimes all I want is to be a few inches taller so the world does not look like a dense collection of torsos.

I think they're going to force us to eat lots of cake and then take an unreasonably long nap.

Cruelty does not make a person dishonest, the same way bravery does not make a person kind.

Dead people can be our heroes because they can't disappoint us later; they only improve over time, as we forget more and more about them.

The man running toward me is not a man, he is a boy. A shaggy-haired boy with a crease between his eyebrows. Will. Dull-eyed and mindless, but still Will. He stops running and mirrors me, his feet planted and his gun up. In an instant, I see his finger poised over the trigger and hear the bullet slide into the chamber, and I fire. My eyes squeezed shut. Can't breathe. The bullet hit him in the head. I know because that's where I aimed it.