“Oh, well, I think. There will be twenty-four of us. Odds are someone else will kill him before I do. Of course, the odds have not been very dependable of late.”

“The mayor finishes the dreary Treaty of Treason and motions for Peeta and me to shake hands. His are as solid and warm as those loaves of bread. 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. We turn back the crowd as the anthem of Panem plays.Oh well, I think. There will be twenty-four of us. Odds are someone else will kill him before I do.Of course, the odds have not been very dependable of late.”

“She zips back to the podium, and I don't even have time to wish for Gale's safety when she's reading the name. "Peeta Mellark."Peeta Mellark!Oh, no, I think. Not him. Because I recognize this name, although I have never spoken directly to its owner. Peeta Mellark.No, the odds are not in my favor today.”

“So Haymitch, what do you think of the games have one hundred percent more competitors than usual?” asks Caesar.Haymitch shrugs. “I don’t see that it makes that much difference. They’ll still be one hundred percent as stupid as usual, so I figure my odds will be roughly the same.”

“One slip. One slip in thousands. The odds had been entirely in her favor. But it hadn't mattered.”

“Katniss, I don't think President Snow will kill Peeta. If he does, he won't have any way to hurt you.""So, what do you think they'll do to him?" I ask."Whatever it takes to break you.”

“Yes, victors are our strongest. They're the ones who survived the arena and slipped the noose of poverty that strangles the rest of us. They, or should I say we, are the very embodiment of hope where there is no hope. And now twenty-three of us will be killed to show how even that hope was an illusion.”