I'm Sick Of People Lying

Hey, Look At This!" He Holds Up A Glistening, Perfect Pearl About The Size Of A Pea. "you Know, If You Put Enough Pressure On Coal It Turns To Pearls," He Says Earnestly To Finnick. "no, It Doesn't," Says Finnick Dismissively. But I Crack Up, Remembering That's How A Clueless Effie Trinket Presented Us To The People Of The Capitol Last Year, Before Anyone Knew Us. As Coal Pressured Into Pearls By Our Weighty Existence. Beauty That Arose Out Of Pain.

Even If Times Got Bad, He Would Never Again Deny Himself The Possibility That The Future Might Be Happy Even If The Present Was Painful. He Would Allow Himself Dreams.

What? My Head Doctor Says I'm Not Supposed To Censor My Thoughts. It's Part Of My Therapy.

What About You?" "not A Clue. I Keep Wishing I Could Bake A Cake Or Something.

One Slip. One Slip In Thousands. The Odds Had Been Entirely In Her Favor. But It Hadn't Mattered.