I realize only one person will be damaged beyond repair if Peeta dies. Me.

Let the Seventy-forth Hunger Games begin, Cato, I think. Let them begin for real.

Peeta looks at the glass again and puts it together. "You mean this will make me puke?" My prep team laughs hysterically. "Of course, so you can keep eating," says Octavia. "I've been in there twice already. Everyone does it, or else how would you have any fun at a feast?

You can swim, too." he says. "Where did you learn that in District Twelve?" "We have a very big bathtub.

It's more complicated than that. I know them. They're not evil or cruel. They're not even smart. Hurting them, it's like hurting children.

I’m in a shallow hole, not filled with the humming orange bubbles of my hallucination but with old, dead leaves.

Is that why you hate me?" I ask. "Partly," She admits. "Jealousy is certainly involved. I also think you're a little hard to swallow. With your tacky romantic drama and your defender-of-the-helpless act. Only it isn't an act, which makes you more unbearable. Please feel free to take this personally.