“I hold my plush monkey over the bannister and let it drop. Its eyes light up when you squeeze its kidneys as whose eyes, I suppose, would not.”

“Uh, I have to warn you that I have an eye phobia. My parents had to hold me down to get drops in my eyes when I had pinkeye as a child”

“Peeta looks me right in the eye and gives my hand what I think is meant to be a reassuring squeeze. Maybe it's just a nervous spasm.”

“She'll have to get over it, then. Are you going to let her drop out of Dauntless for a stupid reason like not being able to walk?" Zeke is quiet for a few seconds. His eyes shift over my face, and he squints, as if weighing and measuring me. Then he turns and bends and wraps his arms around me. it's been so long since someone hugged me that I stiffen. Then I relax, and let the gesture force warmth over my body...”

“Get the paper quick, maybe it's there... I read the paper with my eyes (that's not mistake: My eyes are like a pen now, or a calculator, something you hold in your hands, something you feel is not you- a tool).”

“Squeeze! Squeeze! Squeeze! all the morning long; I squeezed that sperm till I myself almost melted into it; I squeezed that sperm till a strange sort of insanity came over me, and I found myself unwittingly squeezing my co-labourers' hands in it, mistaking their hands for the gentle globules. Such an abounding, affectionate, friendly, loving feeling did this avocation beget; that at last I was continually squeezing their hands, and looking up into their eyes sentimentally, as much as to say,—Oh! my dear fellow beings, why should we longer cherish any social acerbities, or know the slightest ill humour or envy! Come; let us squeeze hands all round; nay, let us all squeeze ourselves into each other; let us squeeze ourselves universally into the very milk and sperm of kindness.”