I kept asking myself if there was anything I could have done. Perhaps if I had stepped in, he would still be alive

I had no choice but to pray for his death. Typically enough, the one thing that never occurred to me was to kill him. During the course of my life I have wished innumerable times that I might meet with a violent death, but I have never once desired to kill anybody. I thought that in killing a dreaded adversary I might actually be bringing him happiness.

Killing myself was a matter of such indifference to me that I felt like waiting for a moment when it would make some difference.

for I determined that if Death came he should find me ready

I wanted to know that he would be okay if I died. I wanted to not be a grenade, to not be a malevolent force in the lives of people I loved.

I didn't really hit him. If I had, he'd have stayed down.

I am prepared to die, but there is no cause for which I am prepared to kill.

I didn't mean to shoot him. I really didn't!

He waited, but nothing happened.
"Boom? Was something suppose to happen there?"

I don't want to do something for the sake of it. I am prepared to wait. If I wait until I am buried, too bad.

I was afraid I was going to die and then I was afraid I wasnt.

"You're punishing him over and over for things that are out of his control. Now, I'm not saying you shouldn't have a fully loaded weapon next to you round the clock. But I think it's time you flipped this little scenario in your head. If you'd been taken by the Capitol, and hijacked, and then tried to kill Peeta, is this the way he would be treating you?" demands Haymitch.
I fall silent. It isn't. It isn't how he would be treating me at all. He would be trying to get me back at any cost. Not shutting me out, abandoning me, greeting me with hostility at every turn.

When I arrived at the house in the suburbs that night I seriously contemplated suicide for the first time in my life. But as I thought about it, the idea became exceedingly tiresome, and I finally decided it would be a ludicrous business. I had an inherent dislike of admitting defeat. Moreover, I told myself, there's no need for me to take such decisive action myself, not when I'm surrounded by such a bountiful harvest of death — death in an air raid, death at one's post of duty, death in the military service, death on the battlefield, death from being run over, death from disease — surely my name has already been entered in the list for one of these: a criminal who has been sentenced to death does not commit suicide. No — no matter how I considered, the season was not auspicious for suicide. Instead I was waiting for something to do me the favor of killing me. And this, in the final analysis, is the same as to say that I was waiting for something to do me the favor of keeping me alive.

When I began to wait to live I really began to wait to die.