They don't know that I'm already asking for the moon.

You’re not leaving me here alone,” I say. Because if he dies, I’ll never go home, not really. I’ll spend the rest of my life in this arena, trying to think my way out.

Peeta bakes. I hunt. Haymitch drinks until the liquor runs out.

If there's a more helpless feeling than trying to reach someone you love who's trapped underground, I don't know it.

You don’t forget the face of the person who was your last hope.

But don't worry; as I've been saying - and this has been very clever of me, I'm sure you'll agree - if you put enough pressure on coal, it'll turn to pearls!

Five years later I still wake up screaming for him to run