You don’t forget the face of the person who was your last hope.
Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be ever in your favor.
You’ve got about as much charm as a dead slug.
Peeta, how come I never know when you're having a nightmare?” I say. “I don't know. I don't think I cry out or thrash around or anything. I just come to, paralyzed with terror,” he says. “You should wake me,” I say, thinking about how I can interrupt his sleep two or three times on a bad night. About how long it can take to calm me down. “It's not necessary. My nightmares are usually about losing you,” he says. “I'm okay once I realize you're here.
I just...I just miss him. And I hate being so alone.
Because...because...she came here with me.
To this day, I can never shake the connection between this boy, Peeta Mellark, and the bread that gave me hope, and the dandelion that reminded me that I was not doomed.
For there to be betrayal, there would have to have been trust first.
Don't. Don't let's pretend when there's no one around.