I Don't Have A Bullet In My

This Concept Could Easily Have Gone Awry. Stories About Love Tend To Go That Way Sometimes. They Wander Into The Realm Of Cheese And Never Return, Which I Think Is A Shame, Because There Is A Way To Write About Romantic Love Without Breaking Out The Velveeta.

Sometimes, The Best Way To Help Someone Is Just To Be Near Them.

What's Your Name? Um... Think About It. You Don't Get To Pick Again. Tris.

I Feel Empty, Not Because Of Sadness, But Because Of Relief, All The Tension Flowing Out Of Me.

He Leans His Face Close To Mine And Wraps His Fingers Around My Chin. His Hand Smells Like Metal. When Was The Last Time He Held A Gun, Or A Knife?