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Ally Condie

Ally Condie Books

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“When I was small my mother tried to teach me the colors. "Blue," she said, pointing to the sky. And "blue" again, the second time pointing to the water. She told me I shook my head because I could see that sky blue was not always the same as water blue. It took me a long time-until I lived in Oria- to use the same word for all the shades of a color... Love has different shades. Like the way I loved Cassia when I thought she'd never love me. The way I loved her on The Hill. The way I love her now that she came into the canyon for me. It's different. Deeper. I thought I loved her and wanted her before, but as we walk through the canyon together I realize this could be more than a new shade. A whole new color.”

“Everyone has something of beauty about them. But loving lets you look, and look, and look again. You notice the back of a hand, the turn of a head, the way of a walk. When you first love, you look blind and you see it all as the glorious, beloved whole, or a beautiful sum of beautiful parts. But when you see the one you love as pieces, as why's, you can love those parts too, and it's a love at once more complicated and more complete.”

“Was [Sisyphus] from your province? 'I don't know. I don't know if he's real,' Ky says. 'If he ever existed.' 'Then why tell his story?' I don't understand, and for a second I feel betrayed. Why did Ky tell me about this person and make me feel empathy for him when there's no proof that he ever lived at all? Ky pauses for a moment before he answers, ...'Even if he didn't live his story, enough of us have lived lives just like it. So it's true anyway.”

“You have layers over layers of a memory in a place. There is the deepest layer, with the ones you love the most, or have the most memories with. Years and years and years. Maybe, you think, I'll make new memories here with new people. Because you can't give up the place entirely-it's physically impossible, or emotionally. And there you are, and both you and the place are layered, like wallpaper on top of wallpaper for centuries, and you'd have to peel everything away, you'd have to be the bare boards, no memories, nothing left. To get rid of some things, you'd have to get rid of everything. So then you are. There you are. Living on. A house with ghosts.”

“I love you." lightning. Once it has forked, hot-white, from sky to earth, there is no going back. It's time. I feel it, I know it. My eyes on him, his on me, and both of us breathing, watching, tired of of waiting. Ky close his eyes, but mine are still open. what will it feel like, his lips on mine? Like a secret told, a promise kept? Like that line in the poem-a shower of all my days- silvery rain falling all around me, where the lighting meets the earth? The whistle blows below us and the moment breaks. We are safe. For now.”

“Thank you," I tell Xander. "I didn't get anything for you -" "It's all right," he says, "but maybe - you could -" He looks into my eyes and I know what he wants. A kiss. Even thought he knows about Ky. Xander and I are still connected; this is still good-bye. I know already that that kiss would be sweet. It would be what he would hold on to, as I hold on to Ky's. But that's something I don't think I can give. "Xander -" "It's all right," he was, and then he stands up. I do too, and he reaches for me, pulls me close.”

“I imagine these drops of rain hitting the scales of the sandstone fish I carved for Vick. Every drop helps the poisoned stream, I think, holding my hands out open wide. Not catching the drops or trying to hold them. I'm letting them leave their mark and then letting them go. Let go. Of my parents, and the pain of what happened to them. Of what I failed to do. Of all the people I failed to save or bury. Of my jealously of Xander. Of my guilt over what happened to Vick. Of worrying about what I can never be and who I never was in the first place. Let go of it all.”

“Tell me why," she says. "Why would you want to lie to me? Why would you take a choice from me?" Her gaze has softened and she's looking at me as Ky again- the person she loves- and somehow that's even worse. All the reasons I lied run through my head: because I can't lose you, because I was jealous, because I don't trust anyone, because I can't even trust myself, because, because, because. "You know why," I say, anger flaring in me suddenly. At everything. Everyone. The Society, the Rising, my father, myself, Indie, Xander, Cassia. "No, I don't," she beings, but I don't let her finish. "Fear," I say, holding her gaze. "We were both afraid. I was afraid of losing you. You were afraid, back in the Borough. When you took my choice away from me.”

“Did you know Grandfather would give the poems to me?” I ask. “We thought he might,” my mother says. “Why didn’t you stop him?” “We didn’t want to take away your choices,” my mother says. “But Grandfather never did tell me about the Rising,” I say. “I think he wanted you to find your own way,” my mother says. She smiles. “In that way, he was a true rebel. I think that’s why he chose that argument with your father as his favorite memory. Though he was upset when the fight happened, later he came to see that your father was strong in choosing his own path, and he admired him for it.”