It isn’t right to wish pain on other people just because they hurt me first.
Hearing him talk about his mother, about his intact family, makes my chest hurt for a second, like someone pierced it with a needle.
The truth is... you are hurting me. Not on purpose, I know that. But I love you and every second that you don´t love me back...it hurts.
Somewhere inside me is a merciful, forgiving person. Somewhere there is a girl who tries to understand what people are going through, who accepts that people do evil things and that desperation leads them to darker places than they ever imagined, I swear she exists, and she hurts for the repentant boy I see in front of me. But if I saw her, I wouldn't recognize her.
I could never hurt him enough to make his betrayal stop hurting. And it hurts, in every part of my body.
My heart beats so hard it hurts, and I can't scream and I can't breathe, but I also feel everything, every vein and every fiber, every bone and every nerve, all awake and buzzing in my body as if charged with electricity. I am pure adrenaline.
I have never been carried around by a large boy, or laughed until my stomach hurt at the dinner table, or listened to the clamor of a hundred people all talking at once. Peace is restrained; this is free.
Sometimes I forget that I can hurt you. That you are capable of being hurt
How have I never realized before that for all the strong, kind parts of him, there are also hurting, broken parts?
I wipe my face with my sleeve, laughing so hard my stomach hurts. If my entire life is like this, loud laughter and bold action and the kind of exhaustion you feel after a hard but satisfying day, I will be content.
Lynn smacks Uriah hard in the back of the head, Christina says, “Hey Tris!” and Uriah cries, “Ow! How on earth do you make a pillow hurt, Lynn?” “My exceptional strength,” she says.
Maybe forgiveness is just the continual pushing aside of bitter memories, until time dulls the hurt and anger, and the wrong is forgotten.
You're not a coward just because you don't want to hurt people.
I do like to hit people-I like the explosion of power and energy, and the feeling that I am untouchable because I can hurt people. But I hate that part of myself, because it is the part of me that is the most broken
At home I used to spend calm, pleasant nights with my family. My mother knit scarves for the neighborhood kids. My father helped Caleb with his homework. There was a fire in the fireplace and peace in my heart, as I was doing exactly what I was supposed to be doing, and everything was quiet. I have never been carried around by a large boy, or laughed until my stomach hurt at the dinner table, or listened to the clamor of a hundred people all talking at once. Peace is restrained; this is free.
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