Mockingjay Quotes

She’s really gone, then. - p. 16

In some ways, District 13 is even more controlling than the Capitol. - p.18

"We were outside at the end of the day. I tried to catch your eye. You looked away. And then... for
some reason you picked a dandelion." I nod. He does remember. I have never spoken about that
moment aloud. "I must have loved you a lot."
"You did." My voice catches and I pretend to cough.

He looks down at his legs as if noticing his outfit for the first time. Then he whips off his hospital
gown, leaving him in just his underwear. “Why? Do you find this”—he strikes a ridiculously
provocative pose—“distracting?”

It’s a long shot, it’s suicide maybe, but I do the only thing I can think of. I lean in and kiss Peeta full
on the mouth. His whole body starts shuddering, but I keep my lips pressed to his until I have to
come up for air. My hands slide up his wrists to clasp his. “Don’t let him take you from me.”
Peeta’s panting hard as he fights the nightmares raging in his head. “No. I don’t want to…”
I clench his hands to the point of pain. “Stay with me.”
His pupils contract to pinpoints, dilate again rapidly, and then return to something resembling
normalcy.
“Always,” he murmurs.

At a few minutes before four, Peeta turns to me again. “Your favorite color…it’s green?”
“That’s right.” Then I think of something to add. “And yours is orange.”
“Orange?” He seems unconvinced.
“Not bright orange. But soft. Like the sunset,” I say. “At least, that’s what you told me once.”
“Oh.” He closes his eyes briefly, maybe trying to conjure up that sunset, then nods his head. “Thank
you.”
But more words tumble out. “You’re a painter. You’re a baker. You like to sleep with the windows
open. You never take sugar in your tea. And you always double-knot your shoelaces.”
Then I dive into my tent before I do something stupid like cry.

“Yes. And if I could grow wings, I could fly. Only people can’t grow wings,” he says. “Real or not
real?”
“Real,” I say. “But people don’t need wings to survive.”
“Mockingjays do.” He finishes the soup and returns the can to me.

“You’re still trying to protect me. Real or not real,” he whispers.

“Real,” I answer. It seems to require more explanation. “Because that’s what you and I do. Protect
each other.” After a minute or so, he drifts off to sleep.

My words hang in the air. I look to the screen, hoping to see them recording some wave of
reconciliation going through the crowd. Instead I watch myself get shot on television.

Closing my eyes doesn't help. Fire burns brighter in the darkness.

What I need is the dandelion in the spring. The bright yellow that means rebirth instead of
destruction. The promise that life can go on, no matter how bad our losses. That it can be good
again. And only Peeta can give me that.
And that, my friends, is how a revolution dies. Haymitch

Several sets of arms would embrace me. But in the end, the only person I truly want to comfort me
isHaymitch, because he loves Peeta, too. I reach out for him and say something like his name and
he’s there, holding me and patting my back. “It’s okay. It’ll be okay, sweetheart.”

“Well, don’t expect us to be too impressed. We just saw Finnick Odair in his underwear.” I decide to
go ahead and like Boggs.

“Ally.” Peeta says the word slowly, tasting it. “Friend. Lover. Victor. Enemy. Fiancée. Target. Mutt.
Neighbor. Hunter. Tribute. Ally. I’ll add it to the list of words I use to try to figure you out.” He
weaves the rope in and out of his fingers. “The problem is, I can’t tell what’s real anymore, and
what’s made up.”

Johanna

“You should have been the Mockingjay. No one would’ve had to feed you lines,” I say.
“True. But no one likes me,” she tells me.

"Is that why you hate me?" I ask.

"Partly," she admits. "Jealousy is certainly involved. I also think you're a little hard to swallow. With
your tacky romantic drama and your defender-of-the-helpless act. Only it isn't an act, which makes
you more unbearable. Please feel free to take this personally."

After I take a shower, and Johanna sort of wipes herself down with a damp cloth, she makes a
cursory inspection of the place. When she opens the drawer that holds my few possessions, she
shuts it quickly.
“Sorry.”

“Sure he can sit here. We’re old friends,” says Johanna, patting the space beside her. The guards nod
and Peeta takes a seat. “Peeta and I had adjoining cells in the Capitol. We’re very familiar with each
other’s screams.”

“What? My head doctor says I’m not supposed to censor my thoughts. It’s part of my therapy,”
replies Johanna.

“Johanna, could you really hear him screaming?”

“That was part of it,” she says. “Like the jabberjays in the arena. Only it was real. And it didn’t stop
after an hour. Tick, tock.”
“Tick, tock,” I whisper back.

“Swear it. On something you care about,” she hisses.

“I swear it. On my life.” But she doesn’t let go of my arm.
“On your family’s life,” she insists.
“On my family’s life,” I repeat. I guess my concern for my own survival isn’t compelling enough.
She lets go and I rub my wrist. “Why do you think I’m going, anyway, brainless?”