“APRIL 16. Away! Away! The spell of arms and voices: the white arms of roads, their promise of close embraces and the black arms of tall ships that stand against the moon, their tale of distant nations. They are held out to say: We are alone—come. And the voices say with them: We are your kinsmen. And the air is thick with their company as they call to me, their kinsman, making ready to go, shaking the wings of their exultant and terrible youth.”

“Away! Away! The spell of arms and voices: the white arms of roads, their promise of close embraces and the black arms of tall ships that stand against the moon, their tale of distant nations. They are held out to say: We are alone. Come. And the voices say with them: We are your kinsmen. And the air is thick with their company as they call to me, their kinsman, making ready to go, shaking the wings of their exultant and terrible youth... Welcome, O life! I go to encounter for the millionth time the reality of experience and to forge in the smithy of my soul the uncreated conscience of my race.”

“She had fat arms, the type of arms that held sailors and soldiers and thieves. The kind of arms that held someone who was going away to jail for ten years. They were the arms of a woman who had eaten a hundred delicious cakes and pastries to get them this comfortable.”

“What am I going to do? I take a deep breath. My arms rise slightly—as if recalling the black-and-white wings Cinna gave me—then come to rest at my sides. “I’m going to be the Mockingjay.”

“Beyond the East the sunrise, beyond the West the sea,And East and West the wanderlust that will not let me be;It works in me like madness, dear, to bid me say good-by!For the seas call and the stars call, and oh, the call of the sky!I know not where the white road runs, nor what the blue hills are,But man can have the sun for friend, and for his guide a star;And there's no end of voyaging when once the voice is heard,For the river calls and the road calls, and oh, the call of a bird!Yonder the long horizon lies, and there by night and dayThe old ships draw to home again, the young ships sail away;And come I may, but go I must, and if men ask you why,You may put the blame on the stars and the sun and the white road and the sky!”

“The air is like being wanted, we say, and they nod approvingly. The air is like getting older, they say, and they touch our arms gently.”