I kiss him as the train slides into unlit, uncertain land. I kiss him for as long as I want, for longer than I should, given that my brother sits three feet away from me.

Sorry, am I being rude?" she asks. "I'm used to saying whatever is on my mind. Mom used to say that politeness is deception in pretty packaging

I will be my undoing If I become my obsession.

Half of bravery is perspective.

I wonder if this is how is is with all evil men, that to someone, they look just like good men, talk like good men, are just as likable as good men.

Since he saved me from the attack, I have associated his smell with safety, so as long as I focus on it, I feel safe now.

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.