And there I am, blushing and confused, made beautiful by Cinna’s hands, desirable by Peeta’s confession, tragic by circumstance, and by all accounts, unforgettable.

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

In our world, I rank music somewhere between hair ribbons and rainbows in terms of usefulness.

Hey, Finnick, come on in! We figured out how to make you pretty again!

Obviously this person's a hazard. Stupid people are dangerous.

For me, it's better to wake up with a paintbrush than a knife in my hand. -Peeta

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