“Maybe . . . because for the first time . . . there was a chance I could keep him,” I say.“So now that you've got me, what are you going to do with me?”“Put you somewhere you can't get hurt.”And when he kisses me, people in the room actually sigh.”

“I can feel Peeta press his forehead into my temple and he asks, 'So now that you've got me, what are you going to do with me?' I turn into him. 'Put you somewhere you can't get hurt.”

“There are so many people put there who will tell you that you can't. What you've got to do is turn around and say "Watch me.”

“But why do you want to talk to me?' He is going to say: 'Because you look so kind,' or 'Because you look so beautiful and kind,' or, subtly, 'Because you look as if you'll understand....' He says: 'Because I think you won't betray me.' I had meant to get this mean to talk to me and tell me all about it, and then be so devastatingly English that perhaps I should manage to hurt him a little in return for all the many times I've been hurt.... 'Because I think you won't betray me, because I think you won't betray me....' Now it won't be so easy.”

“That was before I saw the look on your face when you heard what everyone’s saying. I don’t want you to get hurt because of me.”“You would never do anything to hurt me.”“I’d rather cut off my arm,” he sighed.”

“Even if you find him. Even if he didn't leave you on purpose, he can't possibly live up to the person you've built him into."It's not like the thought hasn't occurred to me. I get that the chances of finding him are small, but the chances of finding him as I remember him are even smaller. But I just keep going back to what my dad always says, about how when you lose something, you have to visualize the last place you had it. And I found―and then lost―so many things in Paris.”