Frankly, I could use a little sugarcoating.

I'm not flailing now, as my muscles are rigid with the tension of holding myself together.

When I ask Plutarch about his absence, he just shakes his head and says, "He couldnt face it." "Haymitch? Not able to face something? Wanted a day off, more likely," I say. "I think his actual words were 'I couldn't face it without a bottle,'" says Plutarch.

He hates me more," says Peeta. "I don't think people in general are his sort of thing.

You know what I miss? More than anything? Coffee. -- Plutarch Heavensbee

Your only defense can be you were so madly in love you weren't responsible for your actions.

Peeta crouches down on the other side of her and strokes her hair. When he begins to speak in a soft voice, it seems almost nonsensical, but the words aren’t for me. “With my paint box at home, I can make every color imaginable. Pink. As pale as a baby’s skin. Or as deep as rhubarb. Green like spring grass. Blue that shimmers like ice on water.