Fire burns brighter in the darkness
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.
The glue of mutual need that bonded us so tightly together for all those years is melting away. Dark patches, not light, show in the spaces between us.
And she's very clever, Peeta. Well, she was. Until you outfoxed her
I just... I just miss him. And hate being so alone. Does he miss me? He must
Katniss, the girl who was on fire!
Someone ought to get Haymitch a drink.
You don't forget the face of the person who was your last hope.
I don't care if you got knocked up. I can still rip your throat out
Not like this. He wanted it to be real.
A verbal promise behind closed doors, even a statement written on paper-these could easily evaporate . . . .
I press my ear against his chest, to the spot where I always rest my head, where I know I will hear the strong and steady beat of his heart. Instead, I find silence.
My guess is that fearful events are the hardest to root out. They're the ones we naturally remember the best, after all.
They'll either want to kill you, kiss you, or be you.
But the words are easy and soothing, promising tomorrow will be more hopeful than this awful piece o time we call today.
I wish I could think of a way to show them that they don't own me. If I'm going to die, I still want to be me.
Never having been in love, this is going to be a real trick. I think of my parents. The way my father never failed to bring her gifts from the woods. The way my mother's face would light up at the sound of his boots at the door. The way she almost stopped living when he died.
The only indication of the passage of time lies in the heavens, the subtle shift of the moon. So Peeta begins pointing it out to me, insisting I acknowledge its progress and sometimes, for just a moment I feel a flicker of hope before the agony of the night engulfs me again.
All I can think of is the emaciated bodies of children on our kitchen table as my mother prescribes what the parent's can't give. More food.
I pull an arrow, whip the notch into place, and am about to let it fly when I'm stopped by the sight of Finnick kissing Peeta. And it's so bizarre, even for Finnick.
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.
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.
I'm banged up and bloody and someone seems to be hammering on my left temple from inside my skull.
Positioned on my dresser, that white-as-snow rose is a personal message to me. It speaks of unfinished business. It whispers, I can find you. I can reach you. Perhaps I am watching you now.
Whatever the opposite of fine is, that's what I am.
He became my confidante, someone with whom I could share thoughts I could never voice...In exchange, he trusted me with his.
Impulsively, I lean forward and kiss him, stopping his word. This is probably overdue anyway since he's right, we are supposed to be madly in love.
Pity does not get you aid. Admiration at your refusal to give in does.
We're supposed to be making up this stuff, playing at being in love, not actually being in love.
Either you came in here a swimmer or you'd better be a really fast learner
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