“I want to ask him where that kitchen is. Where he's from. But he seems guarded. Or maybe it's me. Maybe making friends is a specific skill, and I missed the lesson.”

“I call him my friend, but in the last year it's seemed too casual a word for what Gale is to me. A pang of longing shoots through my chest. If only he was with me now! But of course, I don't want that. I don't want him in the arena where he'd be dead in a few days. I just... I just miss him. And I hate being so alone. Does he miss me? He must.”

“I want to mail my mailman something. He always brings me mail, yet I never give him any mail. Maybe he will appreciate the thought, or maybe he will feel I am making more work for him.”

“Maybe in the morning, sunlight would to turn him back into a statue; then I could take Stone out to the forest where he could frolic among the ferns, gurgle at streams, and make friends with the other interesting rocks.”

“Maybe it's because I can't have him that I feel safe wanting him. He's beyond my reach, so he won't hurt me.”

“On the one hand I think he's a stupid,conceited prick, unrelenting in his disdain for anyone who dares to challenge him. Completely and totally selfish. But on the other hand he does seem to care about some things. He seems to be somewhat understanding, out to make sure that everyone's having a good time. He's confident, not cocky, and there's a difference. It seems like he has these masks he puts on, then changes them in an instant. Part of me thinks it's just maybe who he is, this sociopath who can turn on a dime. But then another part of me wonders if maybe it's all just a game, like a real-life play where he changes his part whenever he sees fit. Some big-time plan to keep people from ever getting too close, or wanting to get close. That everything in front of him is just one big fucking game.”