Quotes About Memories

I hope old new doesn't haunt new you. We've already got enough ghosts between us.

Rue drawing her last breath in my arms. And the song. I get to sing every note of the song. Something inside me shuts down and I'm too numb to feel anything. It's like watching complete strangers in another Hunger Games. But I do notice they omit the part where I covered her in flowers. Right. Because even that smacks of rebellion.

Sometimes Coriolanus wondered if the debris had been left there to remind the citizens of what they had endured. People had short memories. They needed to navigate the rubble, peel off the grubby ration coupons, and witness the Hunger Games to keep the war fresh in their minds.

it was Satyria who spoke of Arachne in glowing terms: her audacity, her outspokenness, her sense of humor. All the things, Coriolanus thought as he dabbed his eyes, that were so annoying about her and had ultimately brought on her death.

turn to Rue's family. "But I feel as if I did know Rue, and she'll always be with me. Everything beautiful brings her to mind. I see her in the yellow flowers that grow in the Meadow by my house. I see her in the mockingjays that sing in the trees. But most of all, I see her in my sister, Prim.

Pero siento como si conociera a Rue...La veo en las flores amarillas que crecen en la Pradera junto a mi casa. La veo en los sinsajos que cantan en los arboles. Pero mas que nada, la veo en mi hermana Prim.

I think of my parents. The way my father never failed to bring her gifts from the woods. The way my mother's face would light up at the sound of his boots at the door. The way she almost stopped living when he died.

And I'm left staring out the window, watching District 12 disappear, with all my good-byes still hanging on my lips.

Smells like home.

At the word trident, it's as if the old Finnick surfaces.

Happy birthday To someone special! And we wish you many more! Once a year We give a cheer To you, Commander Hoff! Happy birthday!

I take the pearl from where it lives in my pocket and try to remember the boy with the bread, the strong arms that warded off nightmares on the train, the kisses in the arena. To make myself put a name to the thing I've lost. But what's the use? It's gone. He's gone. Whatever existed between us is gone.

Wanna blow Lover Boy one last kiss?

Watching the bright pages of his picture books — the very ones he'd pored over with his mother — reduced to ashes had never failed to bring him to tears. But better off sad than dead.

It goes on and on and on and eventually completely consumes my mind, blocking out memories and hopes of tomorrow, erasing everything but the present, which I begin to believe will never change. There

Luxa stood up, her face paler than usual. She went to her cousin, sat beside him, and put her arms around him. Pressing her forehead into his shoulder, she said, "She will fly with you always. You know this. She will fly with you always.

No podéis robarme el pasado. No podéis robarme mi historia.

Well, all right, I'm bad, but then, you're no prize either. All right, I'm bad, but then, that's nothing new. You say you won't love me, I won't love you neither. Just let me remind you who I am to you. 'Cause I am the one who looks out when you're leaping. I am the one who knows how you were brave. And I am the one who heard what you said sleeping. I'll take that and more when I go to my grave.

Do I really want him dead? What I want . . . what I want is to have him back. But I'll never get him back now. Even

No, Darius shouldn't be glad he knew me. If I had

You can't take my past. You can't take my history.

I pick up a few remembrances: a photo of my parents on their wedding day, a blue hair ribbon for Prim, the family book of medicinal and edible plants. The book falls open to a page with yellow flowers and I shut it quickly because it was Peeta's brush that painted them.

No té res d'especial, només és un lloc on jo era feliç.

I consider saying a final good-bye to Peeta, decide it would only be bad for both of us. But I do slip the pearl into the pocket of my uniform. A token of the boy with the bread. A