Insurgent (Divergent #2)

by Veronica Roth

And that is what it feels like: pulling the different parts of me up and in like a shoelace. I feel suffocated, but at least I feel strong.

those revelations changed everything. The truth has a way of changing a person’s plans.

Noise and activity are the refuges of the bereaved and the guilty.

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.

Despite his good looks, he isn’t known for being charming, probably because he’s Candor, and they see charm as deceptive.

His voice is deep, but strangely flat, like it could not create an echo even at the bottom of an empty cavern.

His eyes search the crowd until they find my face. My heartbeat lives in my throat; lives in my cheeks.

Part of me wishes I could burn them from my mind, so I would never have to mourn for them. But the rest of me is afraid of who I would be without them.

I watch him walk away. I feel like a space has opened up within me, expanding so rapidly it will break me apart.

Deep inside me I know the answer: I am being reckless. I will probably gain nothing. I will probably die. And more disturbing still: I don’t really care.

Sometimes I feel like I am collecting the lessons each faction has to teach me, and storing them in my mind like a guidebook for moving through the world. There is always something to learn, always something that is important to understand.