Anyway, even if she's sugarcoating my good points, I appreciate it. Frankly, I could use a little sugarcoating.

Really, the combination of the scabs and the ointment looks hideous. I can't help enjoying his distress. "Poor Finnick. Is this the first time in your life you haven't looked pretty?" I say. "It must be. The sensation's completely new. How have you managed it all these years?" he asks. "Just avoid mirrors. You'll forget about it," I say. "Not if I keep looking at you," he says.

turn and turn and turn again you see the what, but not the when remedy and wrong entwine and so they form a single vine

I miss home badly sometimes. But then I remember there's nothing left to miss anymore. I feel safer here.

My death could, in fact, save him. If it can't, no matter. It's enough to die of spite. To punish Haymitch, who, of all the people in this rotting world, has turned Peeta and me into pieces in his Games. I trusted him. I put what was precious in Haymitch's hands. And he has betrayed me.

I walk around the room eating goose liver and puffy bread until there's a knock on the door. Effie's calling me to dinner. Good. I'm starving.

Pity does not get you aid. Admiration at your refusal to give in does.