He could have had his choice of any woman in the district. And he chose solitude. Not solitude – that sounds too peaceful. More like solitary confinement.

Mostly we just add to the piles of rainbow glass that's been blown off the exteriors of the cany-colored buildings.

I'm trying to think of a witty comeback, when Boggs says brusquely, “Well, don't expect us to be too impressed. We just saw Finnick Odair in his underwear.” I decide to go ahead and like Boggs.

In that one slight motion, I see the end of hope, beginning of destruction of everything I hold dear in the world. I can't guess what form my punishment will take, how wide the net will be cast, but when it is finished there most likely be nothing left. So you would think that at this moment, I would be in utter despair.

Gale is mine. I am his. Anything else is unthinkable.

But the only thing that distracts me from my current situation is fantasizing about killing President Snow.

Don't. Don't let's pretend when there's no one around.