Veronica Roth
Veronica Roth
Veronica Rothis an American novelist and short story writer known for her debut New York Times bestselling Divergent trilogy, consisting of Divergent, Insurgent, and Allegiant; and Four: A Divergent Collection. Divergent was the recipient of the Goodreads Favorite Book of 2011 and the 2012 winner for Best Young Adult Fantasy & Science Fiction...
NationalityAmerican
ProfessionYoung Adult Author
Date of Birth19 August 1988
CityNew York City, NY
CountryUnited States of America
I have your back. I didn't mean only when it's easy. All the time.
Psyche you out?" I repeat. "I'm your FRIEND. I wouldn't do that." He doesn't say anything. I can tell he doesn't believe me-not quite.
There's a reason why she left them, Lauren," he says. His voice is deep, and it rumbles. "What's your name?" "Um..." I don't know why I hesitate. But "Beatrice" just doesn't sound right anymore. "Think about it," he says, a faint smile curling his lips. " You don't get to pick again." A new place, a new name. I can be remade here. "Tris," I say firmly.
His absence will haunt their hallways, and he will be a space they can't fill. And then time will pass, and the hole will be gone, like when an organ is removed and the body's fluids flow into the space it leaves. Humans can't tolerate emptiness for long.
What do I believe? I do not know; I do not know; I do not know.
I might be in love with you." He smiles a little. "I'm waiting until I'm sure to tell you, though.
Scrubbing the floor when no one else wanted to was something that my mother would have done. If I can't be with her, the least I can do is act like her sometimes.
Do the elevators work?" I ask Uriah, as quietly as I can. "Sure they do." says Zeke, rolling his eyes, "You think I'm stupid enough not to come here early and turn on the emergency generator?" "Yeah," says Uriah. "I kinda do.
Who is he when he isn't Dauntless, isn't an instructor, isn't Four, isn't anything in particular? Whoever he is, I like him. It's easier to admit that to myself now, in the dark, after all that just happened. He is not sweet or gentle or particularly kind. But he is smart and brave, and even though he saved me, he treated me like I was strong. That is all I need to know.
If Eric thinks I did something right, I must have done it wrong.
Why do people want to pretend that death is sleep? It isn't. It isn't.
What's worse: to be idle while someone dies, or to be exiled and empty-handed?
And is it selfish of me to crave victory, or is it brave?
I am selfish. I am brave.