Whenever I Write A Story, I Hope

In District 12, Looking Old Is Something Of An Achievement Since So Many People Die Early. You See An Elderly Person, You Want To Congratulate Them On Their Longevity, Ask The Secret Of Survival. A Plump Person Is Envied Because They Aren't Scraping By Like The Majority Of Us. But Here Is Different. Wrinkles Aren't Desirable. A Round Belly Isn't A Sign Of Success.

I See Now That The Circumstances Of Ones Birth Are Irrelevent. It Is What You Do With The Gift Of Life That Determines Who You Are

The Numbness Of His Loss Had Passed, And The Pain Would Hit Me Out Of Nowhere, Doubling Me Over, Racking My Body With Sobs. Where Are You? I Would Cry Out In My Mind. Where Have You Gone? Of Course, There Was Never Any Answer.

If I Get Home, I'll Be So Stinking Rich, I'll Be Able To Pay Someone To Do My Hearing.

I Take Peeta's Face In My Hands. "don't Worry. I'll See You At Midnight.