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.
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.
Being captain of such a vessel was not a stressful job, despite the sheer size of the thing. Everything was automated, and this meant that this behemoth could be efficiently handled by a far less seasoned captain. Besides, hiring mature skippers with actual experience would cost real money. And hey, the computers ran everything anyway – and that’s how Bran Johannsen enters this story – as a fine young inexperienced graduate of the Merchant Space Academy in Mars City, who only got his Executive Officer’s ticket four short years ago.
25. Whenever two human beings spend time together, sooner or later they will probably irritate one another. This is true of best friends, married couples, parents and children, or teachers and students. The question is: How do they respond when friction occurs? There are four basic ways they can react:• They can internalize the anger and send it downward into a memory bank that never forgets. This creates great pressure within and can even result in disease and other problems.• They can pout and be rude without discussing the issues. This further irritates the other person and leaves him or her to draw his or her own conclusions about what the problem may be.• They can blow up and try to hurt the other person. This causes the death of friendships, marriages, homes, and businesses.• Or they can talk to one another about their feelings, being very careful not to attack the dignity and worth of the other person. This approach often leads to permanent and healthy relationships.
I have a scar-a faint gouge in my knee from when I fell down on the sidewalk as a child. It's always seemed stupid to me that none of the pain I've experienced has left a visible mark; sometimes, without a way to prove it to myself. I began to doubt that I had lied through it at all, with the memories becoming hazy over time. I want to have some kind of reminder that while wounds heal, they don't disappear forever- I carry them everywhere, always, and that is the way of things, the way of scars.That is what this tattoo will be, for me: a scar. And it seems fitting that it should document the worst memory of pain I have.
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.
Power as a beneficial tool for aspiring achievers is primarily made up into four folds;1. Power to control emotions,2. Power to make right decisions,3. Power to stand against depression,4. Power to excel in innovations.
Do you have any idea how mad you sound?’‘Indeed I do. I have in moments of doubt considered the question of my sanity.’ (...)‘And?’‘Then I consider what a piece of work is man. How defective in reason, how mean his facilities, how ugly in form and movement, in action how like a devil, in apprehension how like a cow. The beauty of the world? The paragon of animals? To me the quintessence of dust.
When her body first hit the net, all I registered was a gray blur. I pulled her across it and her hand was small, but warm, and then she stood before me, short and thin and plain and in all ways unremarkable- except that she had jumped first. The stiff had jumped first.Even I didn't jump first.Her eyes were so stern, so insistent.Beautiful.
As you may follow, they are an extremely hostile species (i.e. there is no word for ‘welcome’ in the Ruminarii language.) In four short centuries they had managed to lay waste to almost a thousand star systems, enslaving their populations and stripping them of all they wanted.
It did occur to him that perhaps he’d gone to the wrong Academy – the guys in the Space Fleet always had more interesting stories to tell at the spaceport bars. You know, tales about the dude who got vaporized in a plasma accident in the engineering section, or the fella who got turned into a blob of weird space jelly by some alien virus – or the time someone flew a starship into an astor-field at warp four by mistake (they were still trying to find the black box on that one). The Imperial Space Fleet’s recruiting office sure didn’t go around advertising ‘Join up, see the universe, meet interesting aliens and die screaming’, but it was known there were risks involved. It was part of the job after all, and yet somehow, they still got recruits signing up in droves. Yes, indeedy – the stories were far more interesting than his – took a load of ore to Gorda, took a load of mining equipment back to Tordrazil. Took a load of Florpavian Flame-birds to a zoo on Deanna, took a load of machinery to Salus. Picked up and dropped off a few passengers on the way. Still, Florpavian Flame-birds were a risky cargo… and damned tricky to transport – which is probably the only reason he’d had any entertainment at all on the last trip.
I touch her cheek to slow the kiss down, holding her mouth on mine so I can feel every place where our lips touch and every place where they pull away. I savor the air we share in the second afterwards and the slip of her nose across mine. I think of something to say, but it is too intimate, so I swallow it. A moment later I decide I don't care. "I wish we were alone," I say as I back out of the cell. She smiles. "I almost always wish that.
Idols of the injury,dug in behind the least understoodmotor plan information.The vile abomination temporal lobes andThe four loathsome memory walls andThe four reasoning, arithmetic beastsare found for all behind pain and planes.Portrayed as a house,Go in, function, cause blindness fromThe house's hearing spirit, judgment andThe court's four bronze woes andThe functioning brain lobe wings,Go in, hearing and perception,I dig under door fronts, pain and plans.
Tris!” Four calls out. Will and I exchange a look, half surprise and half apprehension. Four pulls away from the railing and walksup 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 inhis 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 ideawhat he’s saying. I laugh. “Do me a favor and stay away from the chasm, okay?”“Of course.” He winks at me.
You’re too important to just … die.” He shakes his head. He won’t even look at me—his eyes keep shifting across myface, 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?