Pity does not get you aid. Admiration at your refusal to give in does.
While you live, the revolution lives.
Despite serious reservations, I had to forgive Finnick for his role in the conspiracy that landed me here. He, at least has some idea of what I’m going through. And it takes too much energy to stay angry with someone who cries so much.
At the moment, the choice would be simple. I can survive just fine without either of them.
Entrails. No hissing. This is the closest we will ever come to love.
I squeeze my eyes shut and try to reach for him across the hundreds and hundreds of miles, to send my thoughts into his mind, to let him know he is not alone. But he is. And I can’t help him.
The glue of mutual need that bonded us so tightly together for all those years is melting away. Dark patches, not light, show in the spaces between us.
I miss home badly sometimes. But then I remember there’s nothing left to miss anymore. I feel safer here.
Sometimes when things are particularly bad, my brain will give me a happy dream.
I noticed just about every girl, but none of them made a lasting impression but you.
I flee what I can’t fight. What can only do me harm.
Still, I hate them. But, of course, I hate almost everybody now. Myself more than anyone.
I shift on to my side and find myself looking directly into Gale’s eyes. For an instant the world recedes and there is just his flushed face, his pulse visible at his temple, his lips slightly parted as he tries to catch his breath.
Jackson has devised a game called “Real or Not Real” to help Peeta. He mentions something he thinks happened, and they tell him if it’s true or imagined, usually followed by a brief explanation.
Because something is significantly wrong with a creature that sacrifices its children’s lives to settle its differences.
Look how we take your children and sacrifice them and there’s nothing you can do. If you lift a finger, we will destroy every last one of you. Just as we did in District Thirteen.
A spark could be enough to set them ablaze.
Barbarism? That’s ironic coming from a woman helping to prepare us for slaughter. And what’s she basing our success on? Our table manners?
And we must fight back! President Snow says he’s sending us a message? Well, I have one for him. You can torture us and bomb us and burn our districts to the ground, but do you see that? Fire is catching! And if we burn, you burn with us!
Here’s some advice. Stay alive.