Quotes About Poverty

Slum kids die slowly, their lives eroded at so languid a pace that even they would have trouble tracing the disintegration. To the children of war death explodes like a car bomb.

is a poor substitute for food to a child with an empty belly.

At last count, in 2017, there were almost sixty thousand homeless people in Los Angeles.

Now, weavers who worked at home couldn't get anyone to buy their cloth unless they sold it for less. Since they made less money from each piece, they had to work longer. Weavers worked for sixteen hours a day, their fingers sore and their eyes red -- and still couldn't make enough money to buy food.

I cannot even earn a living as a whore.

Though religious houses had long had a reputation for being both prisons and hotbeds of vice, they had always served as homes for the many surplus, unmarried, dowerless women who, lacking families to support them, would otherwise have lived out their lives in lonely, hopeless poverty.

District 12: Where you can starve to death in safety.

In really bad times, the hungriest would gather at his door at nightfall, vying for the chance to earn a few coins to feed their families by selling their bodies. Had I been older when my father died, I might have been among them. Instead I learned to hunt.

All I can think of is the emaciated bodies of children on our kitchen table as my mother prescribes what the parent's can't give. More food.

Something inside me twists as I remember another voice. Rue. In the arena. When I gave her the leg of groosling. "Oh, I've never had a whole leg to myself before." The disbelief of the chronically hungry.

District 12. Where you can starve to death in safety," I mutter. Then I glance quickly over my shoulder. Even here, in the middle of nowhere, you worry someone might overhear 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.

But in District 12, where the word tribute is pretty much synonymous with the word corpse , volunteers are all but extinct.

Why bother pinching pennies when the dollars had fled long ago?

Safe to do what?" he says in a gentler tone. "Starve? Work like slaves? Send their kids to the reaping? You haven't hurt people — you've given them an opportunity.

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,

District Twelve. Where you can starve to death in safety," I mutter.

El Distrito 12, donde puedes morirte de hambre sin poner en peligro tu seguridad.

So what do you remember?" "You. In the rain," he says softly. "Digging in our trash bins. Burning the bread. My mother hitting me. Taking the bread out for the pig but then giving it to you instead.

boy with the bread.

District Twelve. Where you can starve to death in safety,

District Twelve. Where you can starve to death in

a social deformity perhaps more hideous than the evil rich man: the evil poor.

Though Marius has been poor for the past five years, he has not known real misery.