“All I can think of is the emaciated bodies of children on our kitchen table as my mother prescribes what the parent's can't give. More food.”

“All right, so give me some idea of what you can do," says Haymitch.I can’t do anything," says Peeta, "unless you count baking bread."Sorry, I don’t. Katniss. I already know you’re handy with a knife,” says Haymitch.Not really. But I can hunt,” I say. “With a bow and arrow.”And you’re good?” asks Haymitch.I have to think about it. I’ve been putting food on the table for four years. That’s no small task. I’m not as good as my father was, but he’d had more practice. I’ve better aim than Gale, but I’ve had more practice. He’s a genius with traps and snares. “I’m all right,” I say.”

“A light was on in the kitchen. His mother sat at the kitchen table, as still as a statue. Her hands were clasped together, and she stared fixatedly at a small stain on the tablecloth. Gregor remembered seeing her that way so many nights after his dad had disappeared. He didn't know what to say. He didn't want to scare her or shock her or ever give her any more pain.So, he stepped into the light of the kitchen and said the one thing he knew she wanted to hear most in the world."Hey, Mom. We're home.”

“Whatever the truth is, I don’t see how it will help me get food on the table.”

“Never having been in love, this is going to be a real trick. I think of my parents. The way my father never failed to bring her gifts from the woods. The way my mother's face would light up at the sound of his boots at the door. The way she almost stopped living when he died.”

“One time, my mother told me that I always eat like I'll never see food again. And I said, "I won't unless I bring it home." That shut her up.”

“No more fear of hunger. A new kind of freedom. But what then ... what? What would my life be like on a daily basis? Most of it has been consumed with the acquisition of food. Take that away and I'm not really sure who I am, what my identity is. The idea scares me some.”