The more you can distract yourself, the better.

She’s really gone, then. The little girl with the back of her shirt sticking out like a duck tail, the one who needed help reaching the dishes, and who begged to see the frosted cakes in the bakery window. Time and tragedy have forced her to grow too quickly, at least for my taste, into a young woman who stitches bleeding wounds and knows our mother can hear only so much.

It’s not wondering what I breathe in, but who, that threatens to choke me.

Why? Do you find this" - he strikes a ridiculously provocative pose - "distracting?

I drag myself out of nightmares each morning and find there's no relief in waking.

Let the Seventy-forth Hunger Games begin, Cato, I think. Let them begin for real.

I vote yes....for Prim.