"We could do it, you know." "What?" "Leave the district. Run off. Live in the woods. You and I, we could make it." - Suzanne Collins

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.

You’ve got about as much charm as a dead slug.

You're a painter. You're a baker. You like to sleep with the windows open. You never take sugar in your tea. And you always double-knot your shoelaces.