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Et øyeblikk ser han på meg med de mørke øynene sine uten å si noe. Så legger han en hånd mot ansiktet mitt og bøyer seg mot meg. Leppene hans streifer mine. Elva brøler, og skumsprøyten treffer anklene mine. Han smiler og presser munnen sin mot min.
I'm used to saying whatever is on my mind. Mom used to say that politeness is deception in pretty packaging.
I have a theory that selflessness and bravery aren't all that different.
But becoming fearless isn't the point. That's impossible. It's learning how to control your fear, and how to be free from it, that`s the point.
Beatrice was a girl I saw in stolen moments at the mirror, who kept quiet at the dinner table. This is someone whose eyes claim mine and don’t release me; this is Tris.
Then I realize what it is. It's him. Something about him makes me feel like I am about to fall. Or turn to liquid. Or burst into flames.
People tend to overestimate my character, I say quietly. They think that because I'm small, or a girl, or a Stiff, I can't possibly be cruel. But they're wrong.
Sometimes, the best way to help someone is just to be near them.
It must require bravery to be honest all the time.
I have a theory that selflessness and bravery aren't all that different.