I knew you'd kiss me." "How?" I say. Because I didn't know myself. "Because I am in pain," He say's. "That's the only way I get your attention.

Now he's [Cinna] arranging things around my living room: Clothing, fabrics, and sketchbooks with designs he's drawn. I pick one up and examine one of the dresses I supposedly created. You know, I think I show a lot of promise," I say. Get dressed, you worthless thing.

Swathed in silk, I feel like a caterpillar in a cocoon awaiting metamorphosis. I always supposed that to be a peaceful condition. At first it is. But as I journey into the night, I feel more and more trapped, suffocated by the slippery bindings, unable to emerge until I have transformed into something of beauty. I squirm, trying to shed my ruined body and unlock the secret to growing flawless wings. Despite enormous effort, I remain a hideous creature, fired into my current form by the blast from the bombs.

I don't know what it is with Finnick and bread, but he seems obsessed with handling it.

what is the worst pain? To me, it's always the pain that is present.

Courage only counts when you can count.

The problem is, I can’t tell what’s real anymore, and what’s made up.