Chosen Ones Veronica Roth Quotes

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.

And maybe that was the entire problem with them—he didn't see her; he saw who she could be with a few adjustments, and all she wanted was to stay busted and be left alone.

Just because something is difficult doesn't mean it's worth doing.

Nature is bloody, and as a whole, it favors strength over compassion.

Either way, we'll carry it. We always do. ... I'm sorry. I couldn't carry it anymore.

And when 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.

In other words, magic is a mirror. It reflects us back to ourselves, and we may not always like what we see.

I just had a panic attack because of a pair of boots, so I don’t think I’ll be winning any mental-health achievement awards anytime soon.

What, then, is a desire? We may begin by stating what it is not. A desire is not a whim. It is not an idle wish concocted on a sunny afternoon. A desire is a profundity of want, a deep and abiding craving that cannot be denied.

I left Abnegation because I wasn't selfless enough,no matter how hard I tried to be." "That's not entirely true." He smiles at me. "That girl who let someone throw knives at her to spare a friend,who hit my dad with a belt to protect me-that selfless girl,that's not you?" He's figured out more about me than I have. And even though it seems impossible that he could feel something for me,given all that I'm not...maybe it isn't.I frown at him. "You've been paying close attention,haven't you?" "I like to observe people." "Maybe you were cut out for Candor, Four, because you're a terrible liar." He puts his hand on the rock next to him, his fingers lining up with mine. I look down at our hands. He has long, narrow fingers. Hands made for mine, deft movements.Not Dauntless hands, which should be thick and tough and ready to break things. "Fine." He leans his face closer to mine, his eyes focusing on my chin, and my lips,and my nose. "I watched you because I like you." He says it plainly, boldly, and his eyes flick up to mine. "And don't call me 'Four," okay? It's nice to hear my name again." Just like that,he has finally declared himself, and I don't know how to respond. My cheeks warm,and all I can think to say is, "But you're older than I am...Tobias." He smiles at me. "Yes,that whopping two-year gap really is insurmountable, isn't it?" "I'm not trying to be self-deprecating," I say, "I just don't get it. I'm younger. I'm not pretty.I-" He laughs,a deep laugh that sounds like it came from deep inside him, and touches his lips to my temple. "Don't pretend," I say breathily. "You know I'm not. I'm not ugly,but I am certainly not pretty." "Fine.You're not pretty.So?" He kisses my cheek. "I like how you look. You're deadly smart.You're brave. And even though you found out about Marcus..." His voice softens. "You aren't giving me that look.Like I'm a kicked puppy or something." "Well," I say. "You're not." For a second his dark eyes are on mine, and he's quiet. Then he touches my face and leans in close, brushing my lips with his.The river roars and I feel its spray on my ankles.He grins and presses his mouth to mine. I tense up at first,unsure of myself, so when he pulls away,I'm sure I did something wrong,or badly.But he takes my face in his hands,his figners strong against my skin,and kisses me again, firmer this time, more certain. I wrap an arm around him,sliding my hand up his nack and into his short hair. For a few minutes we kiss,deep in the chasm,with the roar of water all around us. And when 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.

But dealing with situations like these, Sloane knew, was just a matter of knowing the right procedures. She had learned how to disappear after Cameron died and her mother burrowed into bed and never came out again. You dealt with it the same way you dealt with the cold when you didn't have the right jacket: you let the chill pass through you, digging deep into your bones, until you no longer feel it.

...no longer needs us."... "I'll always need you," Mox said fiercely.... "You'll miss us," Ziva said. "Want us. But that's something else entirely.

And she would tarnish too. Always famous but always fading, the way old movie stars were, carrying ghosts of their younger selves in their faces.

Matt and Sloane had been living in a moment of held breath. The exhale had always been coming.

Sloanie Sloanie Macaroni

She would be very little to him now. An old friend, an ex-girlfriend. She would fade into his memory. That was how it always was - she faded away for people once she had served her purpose.

Magic was not a weapon or even an amoral source of energy—it was an infection. Wherever it was, people died, places turned rotten, and the order of things was disrupted, sometimes irreparably.

She had lived half her life wanting only one thing - to save the world - and the other half wanting to be left alone, which was almost the same thing as wanting nothing at all. She didn't know what it was like to desire something between those two extremes. She wasn't sure she was even capable of it.

You’re the one thing that makes my life bearable,” he said, and the sudden tension in him, suffusing every muscle, reminded me of how he had braced himself every time Vas came around. It was the way he looked when he was guarding himself against pain. “You’re this bright spot of light. You’re--Cyra, before I knew you, I thought about…” I raised my eyebrows. He drew a sharp breath. His gray eyes looked glassy. “Before I knew you,” he began again, “I didn’t intend to live past rescuing my brother. I didn’t want to serve the Noavek family. I didn’t want to give my life to them. But when it’s you…it seems like whatever the end is, it might be worthwhile.” Maybe, to another person, this might have sounded kind. Or at least realistic. A person couldn’t avoid fate. That was the whole point. Fate was the place at which all possible life paths converged--and when the oracles said “all,” they meant all. So was it really so bad, being something good in the fate Akos dreaded? Maybe not. To another person. Unfortunately, I was not another person. “What you’re telling me,” I said, “is that if you’re going to have your head chopped off anyway, it’s at least nice to have your head on a very soft chopping block.” “That’s…” He made a frustrated noise. “That’s the worst possible way to interpret what I said!” “Yeah? Well, it’s my way,” I snapped. “I don’t want to be the gift someone gets when they’ve already lost. I don’t want to be a happy inevitability. I want to be chosen. I want to be wanted.” “You think I don’t want you? Haven’t I made that clear? I still chose you over my family, Cyra, and it wasn’t because of fate!

Is giving me useless cutlery really necessary?” I said, stabbing my toast with the knife instead of slicing it. “The sovereign is concerned that you will try to end your life before the appropriate time,” Eijeh said. The appropriate time. I wondered if Eijeh had chosen my manner of death, then. The oracle, plucking the ideal future from an array of options. “End my life with this thing? My fingernails are sharper.” I brought the knife down, point first, on the mattress. I slammed it so hard the bed frame shuddered, and let go. The knife fell over, not even sharp enough to penetrate fabric. I winced, not even sure what part of my body hurt. “I suppose he thinks you’re creative enough to find a way,” Eijeh said softly. I stuffed the last bite of toast into my mouth and sat back against the wall, my arms folded. We were in one of the polished, glossy cells in the belly of the amphitheater, beneath the stadium seats that were already filling with people hungry to watch me die. I had won the last challenge, but I was running out of strength. This morning walking to the toilet had been a feat. “How sweet,” I said, spreading my arms wide to display my bruises. “See how my brother loves me?” “You’re making jokes,” Ryzek said from just outside the cell. I could hear him, muffled, through the glass wall that separated us. “You must be getting desperate.

Officer K:... a stray dog - if you try to grab it, it might bite you. But if you are careful, you might be able to persuade it to come to you. Officer S: If you know what it eats. Officer K: Correct. And I think in this case, respect was the right bait, so to speak... Citing repercussions rather than restrictions - a choice without an acceptable outcome.

...regardless of what power humankind has access to, I suppose I never see it as having a good outcome. We are animals, after all. And don't let you housecat fool you into thinking that animals are nothing more than fuzzy, whiskered creatures who wish us no ill. Nature is bloody, and as a whole, it favors strength over compassion.

He was a kind man, but his disapproval was paternalistic, at best, and, at worst, oppressive.

Sloane Andrews is that wholesome, clean brand of gorgeous that makes you want to get it dirty.

And maybe that was the entire problem with them—he didn’t see her; he saw who she could be with a few adjustments, and all she wanted was to stay busted and be left alone.

Sometimes,” she said, taking her time, “when I’m upset about something, all you want to do is tell me why I shouldn’t be.” “And that’s bad?” “It makes me feel crazy! Like I can’t trust my own reactions to things.

He wears masks on top of masks, that man.

Tepes, Ogra, and Shotet were on one side of an ongoing debate with Othyr, Thuvhe, and Pitha about the oracles. And the word debate was somewhat ill-chosen, since the environment was, as Teka had put it, “a bit tense.” Bad, in other words.

Sometimes," she said, taking her time. "when I'm upset about something, all you want to do is tell me why I shouldn't be. " "And that's bad?" "It makes me feel crazy! Like I can't trust my own reactions to things. " "We all need people to help us see things from different perspectives. " She rolled her eyes. "You think I don't make myself consider things from other angles?" She had spent a lifetime reacting and then questioning the reactions-- a lifetime of second guessing, self interrogation, badgering her brain into thinking about things the right way. "You think I can't?" Her volume was rising. "Did you ever consider that when I'm upset about something, it might be because it's worth getting upset about?

It was dark, and Esther had noted that at least half of the streetlights they passed were the old gas-burning kind. It seemed to Sloane that with the spread of magic had come a deep affinity for the past, but she wasn’t sure what one had to do with the other.

It felt like the burn and tingle of magic but without the destruction, just the warmth and the intent.