You never know. Say the arena's actually a giant cake-" "Say we move on," I broke in.

I feel like I owe him something, and I hate owing people. Maybe if I had thanked him at some point, I'd be feeling less conflicted now. I thought about it a couple of times, but the opportunity never seemed to present itself. And now it never will. Because we're going to be thrown into an arena to fight to the death. Exactly how am I supposed to work in a thank-you in there? Somehow it just won't seem sincere if I'm trying to slit his throat.

If you are not trying to hold on to time, you are not so afraid of losing it.

What will break me into a million pieces so that I am beyond repair, beyond usefulness?

Even in war there should be lines you didn't cross.

Well you are a piece of work aren't you?

I look at Peeta and he gives me a sad smile. I hear Haymitch's voice. "You could do a lot worse." At this moment, it's impossible to imagine how I could do any better. The gift...it is perfect. So when I rise up on my tiptoe to kiss him, it doesn't seem forced at all.