Our Ability To Know About Ourselves And

He Turns Toward Me. I Want To Touch Him, But I’m Afraid Of His Bareness; Afraid That He Will Make Me Bare Too. ‘is This Scaring You, Tris?’ ‘no,’ I Croak. I Clear My Throat. ‘not Really. I’m Only…afraid Of What I Want.’ ‘what Do You Want?’ Then His Face Tightens. ‘me?’ Slowly I Nod.

I Would Rather Be Dead Than Empty

Before I Chose Dauntless...i Felt Assured Of My Long Lifespan, If Nothing Else. Now There Are No Reassurances Except That Where I Go, I Go Because I Choose To.

Beatrice," She Says. "beatrice, We Have To Run." She Pulls My Arm Across Her Shoulders And Hauls Me To My Feet. She Is Dressed Like My Mother And She Looks Like My Mother, But She Is Holding A Gun, And The Determined Look In Her Eyes Is Unfamiliar To Me.

If They Told Us What To Believe, And We Didn't Come To It On Our Own, Is It Still True?