Tris Prior Quotes

She taught me all about real sacrifice. That it should be done from love... That it should be done from necessity, not without exhausting all other options. That it should be done for people who need your strength because they don't have enough of their own.

If I don't survive," I say, "tell Tobias I didn't want to leave him.

Okay. Then...I can talk. Ask me something." "Okay." He laughs shakily in my ear. "Why is your heart racing Tris?" I cringe and say, "Well, I...I barely know you. I barely know you and I'm crammed up against you in a box, Four, what do you think?"... "Maybe you were cut out for Candor," he says, "because you're a terrible liar.

It's what you deserve to hear," I say firmly, my eyes going cloudy with tears. "That you're whole, that you're worth loving, that you're the best person I've ever known.

Caleb," I say, "I love you." His eyes gleam with tear as he says, "I love you, too, Beatrice.

And I'm the kind of person who does not let inconsequential things like boys and near death experiences stop her.

My parents did love each other. Enough to forsake plans and factions. Enough to defy “faction before blood.” Blood before faction--no, love before faction, always. - Tris Prior

Yeah, well," I say, "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?"... "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.

I'll be your family now," he says. "I love you," I say. (....) He stares at me. I wait with my hands clutching his arms for stability as he considers his response. He frowns at me. "Say it again." "Tobias," I say, "I love you.

Are you asking me to undress, Tris?' A nervous laugh gurgles from my throat. 'Only ... partially

Dead people can be our heroes because they cant disappoint us later; they only improve over time, as we forget more and more about them.

One choice can transform you. One choice can destroy you. Once choice will define you.

I don’t know how long it takes for me to realize that isn’t going to happen, that she is gone. But when I do I feel all the strength go out of me, and I fall to my knees beside the table and I think I cry, then, or at least I want to, and everything inside me screams for just one more kiss, one more word, one more glance, one more.

It isn't just brave that she died for me; it is brave that she did it without announcing it, without hesitation, and without appearing to consider another option.

His fingers slide into my hair, and I hold on to his arms to stay steady as we press together like two blades at a stalemate. He is stronger than anyone I know, and warmer than anyone else realizes; he is a secret that I have kept, and will keep for the rest of my life.

One thing I know: For helping me forget how awful the world is, I prefer her to alcohol.

I regret..." Tobias tilts his head, and sighs. "I regret my choice." "What Choice?" "Dauntless," he says. "I was born Abnegation. I was planning on leaving Dauntless, and becoming factionless. But I met her, and... I felt like maybe I could make something more of my decision." Her.

I confessed to Tobias, soon after that, that I had lost my entire family. And he assured me that he was my family now. -Tris Prior

Tris," he says. "What did they do to you? You're acting like a lunatic." "That's not very nice of you to say," I say. "They put me in a good mood, that's all. And now I really want to kiss you, so if you could just relax-

He is strong, and lithe, and certain. And he is mine.

Tris," Tobias says, crouching next to me. His face is pale, almost yellow. There is too much I want to say. The first thing that comes out is, "Beatrice." He laughs weakly. "Beatrice," he amends, and touches his lips to mine. I curl my fingers into his shirt.

If we stay together, I'll have to forgive you over and over again, and if you're still in this, you'll have to forgive me over and over again too. So forgiveness isn't the point. What I really should have been trying to figure out is whether we were still good for each other or not

I feel a thread tugging me again, but this time I know that it isn’t some sinister force dragging me toward death. This time I know it’s my mother's hand, drawing me into her arms. And I go gladly into her embrace.

I think he came to die with me," I say. I clamp my hand over my mouth to stifle a sob. If I can keep breathing, I can stop crying. I didn't need or want him to die with me. I wanted to keep him safe. What an idiot, I think, but my heart isn't in it. "That's ridiculous," he says. "That doesn't make any sense. He's eighteen; he'll find another girlfriend once you're dead. And he's stupid if he doesn't know that." Tears run down my cheeks, hot at first and then cold. I close my eyes. "If you think that's what it's about..." I swallow another sob. "...you're the stupid one.

His eyes search the crowd until they find my face. My heartbeat lives in my throat; lives in my cheeks. "I still don't understand," he says softly, "how she knew that it would work.

I choose him over and over again, and he chooses me.

What is wrong with you?' I shake my head. 'Pull it together.' And that's 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.

I reach out and take his hand. His fingers slide between mine. I can't breathe.

What did you do?” I mumble. He is just a few feet away from me now, but not close enough to hear me. As he passes me he stretches out his hand. He wraps it around my palm and squeezes. Squeezes, then lets go. His eyes are bloodshot; he is pale. “What did you do?” This time the question tears from my throat like a growl. I throw myself toward him, struggling against Peter’s grip, though his hands chafe. “What did you do?” I scream. “You die, I die too” Tobias looks over his shoulder at me. “I asked you not to do this. You made your decision. These are the repercussions.

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.

How have I never realized before that for all the strong, kind parts of him, there are also hurting, broken parts?

she sighs, then breaks a piece off the muffin in my hand. 'Hey. There are plenty more just five feet to your right.' 'then you shouldn't be so concerned about losing some of yours.' she says, grinning. 'Fair enough.

I'm going to stop a revolution,'' I say. I turn right, and Peter follows me.

I glance at Tris. She grins at me, then leans in to whisper something to Christina. "Are you here to help or what, Stiff?" I say.

I look out the window again, taking slow, deep breaths into a body too tense to move. And as I stare out at the land, I think that this, if nothing else, is compelling evidence for my parents’ God, that our world is so massive that it is completely out of our control, that we cannot possibly be as large as we feel. -Tris Prior

So small as to be negligible. It's strange, but there's something in that thought that makes me feel almost...free.

Maybe time would not feel as heavy if I didn't have this guilt - the guilt of knowing the truth and stuffing it down where no one can see it.

He's one of the last friends I have," she says, her voice breaking. "I don't know if I'll ever be able to look at you the same way again.

You don't have to tell me everything right away, but I have to tell you everything right away? Can't you see how stupid that is?

Dauntless,' he says. 'I was born for Abnegation. I was planning on leaving Dauntless, and becoming factionless. But then I met her, and...I felt like maybe I could make something more of my decision.' Her. For a moment, it's like I'm looking at a different person, sitting in Tobias's skin, one whose life is not as simple as I thought. He wanted to leave Dauntless, but he stayed because of me. He never told me that.

And I am someone who does not let inconsequential boys and near-death experiences stop her.

Death could not erase her, she is permanent.

How strange that something so simple could have been instrumental in my decision to ruin one of my most relationships and friendships, and damage another.

My body rises with the water. Instead of kicking my feet to stay abreast of it, I push all the air from my lungs and sink to the bottom. The water muffles my ears. I feel its movement over my face. I think about snorting the water into my lungs so it kills me faster, but I can't bring myself to do it. I blow bubbles from my mouth. Relax. I close my eyes. My lungs burn.

He is a part of me, always will be, and I am a part of him, too. I don't belong to Abnegation, or Dauntless, or even the Divergent. I don't belong to the Bureau or the experiment or the firnge. I belong to the people I love, and they belong to me- they, and the love and loyalty I give them, form my identity far more than any word or group ever could. I love my brother. I love him, and he is quaking with terror at the though of death. I love him and all I can think, all I can hear in my mind, are the words I said to him a few days ago : I would never deliver you to your own execution

Intentions are the only thing they care about. 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, they want you to think a certain way. So you're easy to understand. So you wont pose a threat to them.

Though I know that he had something to do with the attack simulation, and with all those deaths, I find it difficult to pair those actions with the man I see in front of me. I wonder if this is how it is with all evil men, that to someone, they look just like good men, talk like good men, are just as likeable as good men.

Sometimes I just... want to see it again. Want to see you awake.

I imagine the wave of water colliding with the rock and spilling over the tile floor, collecting around my shoes. Doing a little at once can fix something, eventually, but I feel like when you believe that something is truly a problem, you throw everything you have at it, because you just can’t help yourself.

Well, I already know what happened to my face", I say. "I was there. Sort of

How is it I know this little about the boy who says he loves me-

I was beginning to feel that I had finally found a place to stay, a place that was not so unstable or corrupt or controlling that I could actually belong there. You would think that I would have learned by now—such a place does not exist.

You’re too important to just … die.” He shakes his head. He won’t even look at me—his eyes keep shifting across my face, to the wall behind me or the ceiling above me, to everything but me. I am too stunned to be angry. “I’m not important. Everyone will do just fine without me,” I say. “Who cares about everyone? What about me?

It doesn't prove anything except that you're bullying us. Which, as I recall, is a sign of cowardice.

Yes, I say. Three of these flying birds. I touch my collarbone, marking the path of their flight-toward my heart. One for each member of the family I left behind.

Doing a little at once can fix something, eventually, but i feel like when you believe something is truly a problem, you throw everything you have at it, because you just can't help yourself.

You know, the kind of person who gets this tattoo is probably the kind that should keep it very quiet," she says, looking at me from the corner of her eye. "Or else someone will start thinking they're Divergent.

Maybe you were cut out for Candor, Four, because you're a terrible liar.

They'll care for each other, she says. That's what people do. I smile and close my eyes.

Hey, Peter, I say. Remember what a target is?

The minutes I had left with him fall away like dead leaves pulled from branches.

Behind her, the door to the stairwell opens, and Tobias steps out with Marcus and Caleb behind him, almost unnoticed. Almost, except I notice him, because I have trained myself to notice him.

We're sorry for frightening you, Tris,' another voice says, 'but anonymity is integral to our operation. We mean you no harm.' 'Let go of me then!' I say, almost growling. All the hands holding me on the wall fall away. 'Who are you?' I demand. 'We are the Alliegiant,' the voice replies. 'And we are many, yet we are no one....' I can't help it: I laugh.

Me enamoré de él. Pero no solamente estoy con él por defecto, como si no hubiera nadie más disponible para mí. Estoy con él porque lo elijo, cada día que me despierto, cada día que peleamos o nos mentimos el uno al otro o nos decepcionamos. Lo elijo una y otra vez y él me elije a mí.

Maybe Dauntless was formed with good intentions, with the right ideals and the right goals. But it has strayed far from them. And the same is true of Erudite, I realize. A long time ago, Erudite pursued knowledge and ingenuity for the sake of doing good. Now they pursue knowledge and ingenuity with greedy hearts. I wonder if the other fractions suffer from the same problem

Hay tantas maneras de ser valiente en este mundo. A veces la valentía implica dar tu vida por algo más grande que tú, o por alguien más. A veces se trata de renunciar a todo lo que has conocido, o a todo el mundo que alguna vez has amado, para el bien de algo mejor. Pero a veces no es así, A veces no es más que apretar los dientes por el dolor y por el trabajo de cada día, el lento paseo hacia una vida mejor. Ese es el tipo de valentía que debo tener ahora.

I feel something hot and violent writhing in my stomach. I want to hurt them. I stare at my eyes in the mirror. I want so, so I will.

Oh, so it's not enough that I told you; it has to be in the right setting?" I raise my eyebrows. "Next time should I brew some tea and make sure the lighting is right too?

Most of the time I can tell when people are lying, and this must be a lie, because Tris is still alive, her eyes bright and her cheeks flushed and her small body full of power and strenght, standing in a shaft of light in the atrium. Tris is still alive, she wouldn't leave me here alone, she wouldn't go to the Weapons Lab instead of Caleb.

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.

Maybe we're strangers no matter where we go. Or maybe we'll make a home somewhere inside ourselves, to carry with us wherever we go.

But then he stops at the door frame and says, It's 9:24. Telling me the time is a small act of betrayal-and therefore an ordinary act of bravery. It is maybe the first time I've seen Peter be truly Dauntless.

I throw my arms out to the side and imagine that I am flying...my heart beats fast, I can't scream and I can't breathe. I also feel everything, buzzing as if I am charged with electricity. I AM PURE ADRENALINE - TRIS

Sometimes it isn't fighting that's brave, it's facing the death you know is coming.

His gestures, his inflections, his manner, they are hers. They make him into just a whisper of her, and that is not enough of her, but it is also far too much.

And what this is, I realize, is life. I don't want it. I want my parents and I have for weeks. I've been trying to claw my way back to them, and now I am so close and he is telling me not to.

Tris!” Four calls out. Will and I exchange a look, half surprise and half apprehension. Four pulls away from the railing and walks up to me. Ahead of us, Al and Christina stop running, and Christina slides to the ground. I don’t blame them for staring. There are four of us, and Four is only talking to me. “You look different.” His words, normally crisp, are now sluggish. “So do you,” I say. And he does—he looks more relaxed, younger. “What are you doing?” “Flirting with death,” he replies with a laugh. “Drinking near the chasm. Probably not a good idea.” “No, it isn’t.” I’m not sure I like Four this way. There’s something unsettling about it. “Didn’t know you had a tattoo,” he says, looking at my collarbone. He sips the bottle. His breath smells thick and sharp. Like the factionless man’s breath. “Right. The crows,” he says. He glances over his shoulder at his friends, who are carrying on without him, unlike mine. He adds, “I’d ask you to hang out with us, but you’re not supposed to see me this way.” I am tempted to ask him why he wants me to hang out with him, but I suspect the answer has something to do with the bottle in his hand. “What way?” I ask. “Drunk?” “Yeah...well, no.” His voice softens. “Real, I guess.” “I’ll pretend I didn’t.” “Nice of you.” He puts his lips next to my ear and says, “You look good, Tris.” His words surprise me, and my heart leaps. I wish it didn’t, because judging by the way his eyes slide over mine, he has no idea what he’s saying. I laugh. “Do me a favor and stay away from the chasm, okay?” “Of course.” He winks at me.

Maybe there is some Abnegation in everyone. Well in everyone but Peter."-Tris Prior

Because you like to hurt people. And you think you're special, you think everyone around you is a bunch of sissies who can't make the tough choices like you can. You are not special. I like to hurt people too. I can make the cruelest choice. The difference is sometimes I don't, and you always do, and that makes you evil.

Some of my anger has faded, but it isn't hard to call back. All I have to do is think about how cold the air was and how loud the laughter was. Look at her. She's a child.

É revelador da crueldade do destino que eu tenha de viajar com aqueles que odeio quando deixo para trás, já mortas, as pessoas que amo.

Cortesia é desilusão embrulhada em papel de embrulho.

You know, most boys enjoy being trapped in close quarters with a girl.

Deixa que a culpa te ensine como agir da próxima vez

I stand there for just a few seconds before people realize that I’m there. Their conversation peters out. I wipe my palms off on the hem of my shirt. Too many eyes, and too much silence. Evelyn clears her throat. “Everyone, this is Tris Prior. I believe you may have heard a lot about her yesterday.” “And Christina, Uriah, and Lynn,” supplies Tobias. I’m grateful for his attempt to divert everyone’s attention from me, but it doesn’t work. I stand glued to the door frame for a few seconds, and then one of the factionless men--older, his wrinkled skin patterned with tattoos--speaks up. “Aren’t you supposed to be dead?” Some of the others laugh, and I try a smile. It emerges crooked and small. “Supposed to be,” I say. “We don’t like to give Jeanine Matthews what she wants, though,” Tobias says.

I push open the door just as Tobias, who is sitting on the floor with one leg stretched out, hurls a butter knife at the opposite wall. It sticks, handle out, from a large hunk of cheese they positioned on top of the dresser. Caleb, standing beside him, stares in disbelief, first at the cheese and then at me. "Tell me he's some kind of Dauntless prodigy," says Caleb. "Can you do this too?" "With my right hand, maybe," I say. "But yes, Four is some kind of Dauntless prodigy. Tobias's eyes catch mine on the word "Four." Caleb doesn't know that Tobias wears his excellence all the time in his own nickname.

(...) Moim zdaniem płaczemy po to, aby uwolnić naszą zwierzęcą część, nie tracąc człowieczeństwa.

I am Selfish I am Brave I am DIvergent

That is death- shifting from "is" to "was

If I fall now, I will die. But I don't think I will fall.

I release the trigger of my gun and drop it. Before I can lose my nerve, I turn and press my forehead to the barrel of the gun behind me. Shoot me instead. "One!

I have to think of this as a mental exercise, not a physical exercise. So I spend the first few minutes practicing without a knife, finding the right stance, learning the right arm motion. Eric paces too quickly behind us. “I think the Stiff’s taken too many hits to the head!” remarks Peter, a few people down. “Hey, Stiff! Remember what a knife is?” Ignoring him, I practice the throw again with a knife in hand but don’t release it. I shut out Eric’s pacing, and Peter’s jeering, and the nagging feeling that Four is staring at me, and throw the knife. It spins end over end, slamming into the board. The blade doesn’t stick, but I’m the first person to hit the target. I smirk as Peter misses again. I can’t help myself. “Hey, Peter,” I say. “Remember what a target is?

Every question that can be answered must be answered or at least engaged. Illogical thought processes must be challenged when they arise. Wrong answers must be corrected. Correct answers must be affirmed. —From the Erudite faction manifesto CHAPTER ONE TRIS I PACE IN our cell in Erudite headquarters, her words echoing in my mind: My name will be Edith Prior, and there is much I am happy to forget.

Were you a transfer too?” “I thought I would only have trouble with the Candor asking too many questions,” I say. “Now I’ve got Stiffs, too?” As it was with Christina before, my sharpness is intended to slam doors before they open too much. But Tris’s mouth twists like she tastes something sour, and she says, “It must be because you’re so approachable. You know. Like a bed of nails.” Her face flushes as I stare at her, but she doesn’t look away. Something about her seems familiar to me, though I swear I would remember if I had ever met such a sharp Abnegation girl, even for just a second. “Careful, Tris,” I say. Careful what you say to me, is what I mean, careful what you say to anyone, in this faction that values all the wrong things, that doesn’t understand that when you come from Abnegation, standing up for yourself, even in small moments, is the height of bravery. As I say her name, I realize how I know her. She’s Andrew Prior’s daughter. Beatrice. Tris.

As I say her name, I realize how I know her. She’s Andrew Prior’s daughter. Beatrice. Tris.

Sé que soy como un pájaro, angosta y pequeña, como para tomar vuelo, construida recta y frágil. Pero cuando me toca como si no pudiese soportar alejar su mano, no deseo ser diferente.