Quotes About Isolation

People keep talking at me, talking, talking, talking

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

Peeta has asked to be coached separately.

Me, who won't cooperate. Beetee, an older inventor from 3, who I rarely see because he was pulled into weapons development the minute he could sit upright. Literally, they wheeled his hospital bed into some top secret area and now he only occasionally shows up for meals.

It brings on the flood of images that torments me, awake or asleep. Peeta being tortured — drowned, burned, lacerated, shocked, maimed, beaten — as the Capitol tries to get information about the rebellion that he doesn't know. I squeeze my eyes shut and try to reach for him across the hundreds and hundreds of miles, to send my thoughts into his mind, to let him know he is not alone. But he is. And I can't help him.

How are you doing with the separation?

He could have had his choice of any woman in the district. And he chose solitude. Not solitude — that sounds too peaceful. More like solitary confinement.

So cold, so bitterly cold tonight. As if the Gamemakers have sent an infusion of frozen air across the arena, which may be exactly what they've done. I lie next to Peeta in the bag, trying to absorb every bit of his fever heat. It's strange to be so physically close to someone who's so distant. Peeta might as well be back in the Capitol, or in District 12, or on the moon right now, he'd be no harder to reach. I've never felt lonelier since the Games began

No em poden fer mal. […] Ja no queda ningú que m'estimi.

The last tribute alive

If there's a more helpless feeling than trying to reach someone you love who's trapped underground, I don't know it.

His voice isn't angry. It's hollow, which is worse. Already the boy with the bread is slipping away from me.

I'm getting the white liquor because a few weeks ago he ran out and there was none for sale and he had a withdrawal, shaking and screaming at terrifying things only he could see.

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

No. My mother and younger brother. My girl. They were all dead two weeks after I was crowned victor. Because of that stunt I pulled with the force field," he answers. "Snow had no one to use against me.

Naked bodies are no big deal in the arena, right?

One time, when I was in a hide in a tree, waiting motionless for game to wander by, I dozed off and fell three metres to the ground, landing on my back. It was as if the impact had knocked every wisp of air from my lungs, and I lay there struggling to inhale, to exhale, to do anything. That

I squeeze my eyes shut and try to reach for him across the hundreds and hundreds of miles, to send my thoughts into his mind, to let him know he is not alone. But he is. And I can't help him. Running.

A good clean shot to end it all. Only there's no arrow, no bullet. Is it possible he can't see me? No. Above us, on the giant screens placed around the City Circle, everyone can watch the whole thing being played out. He sees, he knows, but he doesn't follow through. Just as I didn't when he was captured. Sorry excuses for hunters and friends. Both of us. I'm on my own.

Si es mor, mai no acabaré de tornar a casa, realment. Em passaré la resta de la vida en aquesta arena, mirant de sortir-ne.

No vas a dejarme sola –insisto, porque si muere, en realidad nunca volveré a casa, me pasaré el resto de mi vida en este campo de batalla, intentando encontrar la salida.

It´s a little song about abandonment, and it goes something like this....

I think, This will be the last horrible thing I have to go through, until I meet someone else and the whole travesty begins again . I myself bear a sign that reads DON´T DATE ME, I CHAIN-SMOKE, I´M BITTER, AND I INCLUDE GRABBY TODDLER, and this has dramatically decreased my social life. I have resigned myself to a lifetime of jalapeño poppers and cheap wine and Frasier reruns.

To be alone is to be different, to be different is to be alone.