Poison. The perfect weapon for a snake.

I’ve stopped talking because there’s really nothing left to say and there’s this piercing sort of pain where my heart is. Maybe I’m even having a heart attack, but it doesn’t seem worth mentioning.

Suddenly I am furious, that with my life on the line, they don’t even have the decency to pay attention to me. That I’m being upstaged by a dead pig.

It’s the final word in camouflage. Forget chucking weights around. Peeta should have gone into his private session with the Gamemakers and painted himself into a tree. Or a boulder. Or a muddy bank full of weeds.

They recognize me. Of course they recognize me. My face is uncovered and I'm standing here outside of District 12 pointing an arrow at them. Who else would I be?

So I thought if I stopped being so, you know, wounded, we could take a shot at just being friends. - Peeta Mellark

You asked why the rate hate Overlanders so deeply. It is because they know one will be the warrior of the prophecy," said Vikus. "Oh, I see," said Gregor. "So, when's he coming?" Vikus fixed his eyes on Gregor. "I believe he is already here.