Yes, victors are our strongest. They're the ones who survived the arena and slipped the noose of poverty that strangles the rest of us. They, or should I say we, are the very embodiment of hope where there is no hope. And now twenty-three of us will be killed to show how even that hope was an illusion.

Eyes on the forest, not on the trees.

Besides, it's the first gift that's always the hardest to pay back. I wouldn't even have been here to do it if you hadn't helped me then.

I don’t want anyone with me today. Not even him. Some walks you have to take alone.

They can pump whatever they want into my arm but it takes more than that to keep a person going once she's lost the will to live.

Beetee is still messing round the tree, doing I don't know what. At one point he snaps off a sliver of bark, joins us, and throws it against the force field. It bounces back and lands on the ground, glowing. In a few moments it returns to its original color. "Well, that explains a lot," says Beetee. I look at Peeta and can't help biting my lip to keep from laughing since it explains absolutely nothing to anyone but Beetee.

I flee what I can't fight. What can only do me harm.