Yes, it's your fault I'm alive.

The idea of being strong for someone else having never entered their heads, I find myself in the position of having to console them. Since I'm the person going in to be slaughtered, this is somewhat annoying.

Isn't it strange that I know you'd risk your life to save mine, but I don't even know what your favorite color is?

Death is our savior from life.

Because I can count on my fingers the number of sunsets I have left, and I don't want to miss any of them.

Look, if you wanted to be babied you should have asked Peeta.