Every faction conditions its members to think and act a certain way. And most people do it. For most people, it's not hard to learn, to find a pattern of thought that works and stay that way. But our minds move in a dozen different directions. We can't be confined to one way of thinking, and that terrifies our leaders. It means we can't be controlled. And it means that no matter what they do, we will always cause trouble for them.
Human reason can excuse any evil; that is why it's so important that we don't rely on it.
I settle into their pace. The uniform pounding of feet in my ears and the homogeneity of the people around me makes me believe that I could choose this. I could be subsumed into Abnegation's hive mind, projecting always outward.
My heart beats so hard it hurts, and I can't scream and I can't breathe, but I also feel everything, every vein and every fiber, every bone and every nerve, all awake and buzzing in my body as if charged with electricity. I am pure adrenaline.
That is death- shifting from is to was
When I look at the Abnegation lifestyle as an outsider, I think it's beautiful. When I watch my family move in harmony; when we go to dinner parties and everyone cleans together afterward without having to be asked; when I see Caleb help strangers carry their groceries, I fall in love with this life all over again.
Everything - our houses, our clothes, our hairstyles - is meant to help us forget ourselves and to protect us from vanity, greed and envy, which are just forms of selfishness. If we have little, and want for little, and we are all equal, we envy no one.
Humans can't tolerate emptiness for long.
I stare at him. I feel my heartbeat everywhere, even in my toes. I feel like doing something bold, but I could just as easily walk away. I am not sure which option is smarter, or better. I am not sure that I care.
My problem might be that even if I did go home, I wouldn't belong there, among people who give without thinking and care without trying.
The goal of my life isn't just... to be happy.
Who cares about pretty? I'm going for noticeable.
Fear doesn't shut you down; it wakes you up
I am fed up. I am fed up with tears and weakness. But there isn't much i can do to stop them.
I tell myself, as sternly as possible, that is how things work here. We do dangerous things and people die. People die, and we move on to the next dangerous thing. The sooner that lesson sinks in, the better chance I have at surviving initiation.
Our eyes meet. I hear a train horn, so faint it could be wind whistling through an alleyway. But I know it when I hear it. It sounds like the Dauntless, calling me to to them.
The theory is that if you spill all your secrets, you'll have no desire to lie about anything, ever again. Like the worst about you is already in the open, so why not just be honest?
Why do people want to pretend that death is sleep? It isn't. It isn't.
For a few minutes we kiss, deep in the chasm, with the roar of water all around us. And we rise, hand in hand, I realize that if we had both chosen differently, we might have ended up doing the same thing, in a safer place, in gray clothes instead of black ones.
I breathe in. The water will wash my wounds clean. I breathe out. My mother submerged me in water when I was a baby, to give me to God. It has been a long time since I thought about God, but I think about him now. It is only natural. I am glad, suddenly, that I shot Eric in the foot instead of the head.
I want to cry because something terrible happened, and I saw it, and I could not see a way to mend it.
Part of me wonders if this is a suicide mission disguised as a game.
There is power in controlling something that can do so much damage - in controlling something, period.
Yesterday he told me he thought I would have to pretend to be weak, but he was wrong. I am weak already. I brace myself against the wall and press my forehead to my hands. It's difficult to take deep breaths, so I take short, shallow ones. I can't let this happen. They attacked me to make me feel weak. I can pretend they succeeded to protect myself, but I can't let it become true.
Half of bravery is perspective.
I can't answer either question. But the look she gives me reminds me of the look in the attack dog's eyes in the aptitude test - a vicious, predatory stare. She wants to rip me to pieces. I can't lie down in submission now. I have become an attack dog too.
I would rather be dead than empty
Politeness is deception in pretty packaging.
They try to make you think they care about what you do but they don't. They don't want you to act a certain way. So you're easy to understand. So you won't pose a threat to them.
You chose us. Now we have to choose you.
More Veronica Roth Quotations (Based on Topics)
Courage - Time - Fear - Good & Evil - Death & Dying - Selfishness - Water - People - Mind - Art - Mothers - Education - Place - Learning - Reasoning - Courtesy - Honesty & Integrity - Belief & Faith - Life - View All Veronica Roth Quotations
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