Buttercup, Miserable Even With Prim’s Constant Attention,

Exactly How Am I Supposed To Work In A Thank-you In There? Somehow It Just Won't Seem Sincere If I'm Trying To Slit His Throat.

This Was The Door To Both Sustenance And Sanity. And We Were Each Other's Key.

Great. Now I Have To Go Back And Tell Haymitch I Want An Eighty-year-old And Nuts And Volts For My Allies. He'll Love That.

Let The Seventy-forth Hunger Games Begin, Cato, I Think. Let Them Begin For Real.

In That One Slight Motion, I See The End Of Hope, Beginning Of Destruction Of Everything I Hold Dear In The World. I Can't Guess What Form My Punishment Will Take, How Wide The Net Will Be Cast, But When It Is Finished There Most Likely Be Nothing Left. So You Would Think That At This Moment, I Would Be In Utter Despair.