The air's warm with hopeful hints of spring in it. Spring would be a good time for an uprising, I think. Everyone feels less vulnerable once winter passes.

I mourn my old life here. We barely scraped by, but I knew where I fit in, I knew what my place was in the tightly interwoven fabric that was our life. I wish I could go back to it because, in retrospect, it seems so secure compared to now, when I am so rich and famous and so hated by the authorities in the capitol.

Yes. I killed him. And buried her in flowers," I say. "And I sang her to sleep.

Even in war there should be lines you didn't cross.

Embrace the probability of your imminent death....and know there is nothing i can do to save you.

But once I saw Fulvia Cardew crumple up a sheet of paper with just a couple of words written on it and you would’ve thought she’d murdered someone from the looks she got.

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