Michael Arndt

Katniss, I don't... I don't know kind of deals you made with Haymitch, but he made me promises too.

If you die, and I live, I'd have nothing. Nobody else that I care about.

It's different for you. Your family needs you.

You have to live. For them.

Nobody needs me.

See, Katniss, the way the whole "friend" thing works is you have to tell each other the deep stuff.

You don't have to apologize to anybody, including me. I know it's not fair of me to hold you to things that you said in the games - you saved us, I know that - but I can't go on acting for the cameras and then just ignoring each other in real life; so, if you can stop looking at me like I'm wounded, then I can quit acting like it, and then MAYBE we have a shot at being friends.

For starters, it does help when you know the person. I hardly know anything about you except that you're stubborn and good with a bow.

Though they fought and lived with honor and dignity until the end, both Thresh and Rue were so young. But our lives aren't just measured in years. They're measured in the lives of people we touch around us. For myself, for Katniss, we know that without Rue, and without Thresh, we wouldn't be standing here today.

Remember, Katniss, today's about making allies.

The Careers are still out there. If we stick with these guys till midnight and... and if we hear a cannon, we go.

You know what? Fuck beauty contests. Life is one fucking beauty contest after another. School, then college, then work… Fuck that. And fuck the Air Force Academy. If I want to fly, I'll find a way to fly. You do what you love, and fuck the rest.

I wish I could just sleep until I was eighteen and skip all this crap-high school and everything-just skip it.

You know what? Fuck beauty contests. Life is one fucking beauty contest after another. You know, school, then college, then work, fuck that. And fuck the air force academy. If I wanna fly, I'll find a way to fly. You do what you love, and fuck the rest.

No, you're *not* my family! I don't wanna *be* your family! I hate you fucking people! Divorce? Bankrupt? Suicide? You're fucking losers, you're losers! No, please just leave me here, Mom. Please, please, please. Please... just leave me here.

No, you're *not* my family, okay? I don't want to *be* your family! I *hate* you fucking people! *I hate you!* Divorce? Bankrupt? Suicide? You're fucking *losers*! You are losers!

No, *please* just leave me here, Mom. Okay? Please, *please*. Please just leave me here.

I apologize for the things I said. I was upset, and I didn't really mean them.

Do you know who Marcel Proust is?

Yeah. French writer. Total loser. Never had a real job. Unrequited love affairs. Gay. Spent 20 years writing a book almost no one reads. But he's also probably the greatest writer since Shakespeare. Anyway, he uh… he gets down to the end of his life, and he looks back and decides that all those years he suffered, Those were the best years of his life, 'cause they made him who he was. All those years he was happy? You know, total waste. Didn't learn a thing. So, if you sleep until you're 18… Ah, think of the suffering you're gonna miss. I mean high school? High school-those are your prime suffering years. You don't get better suffering than that.

Wow, Richard, you've really opened my eyes to what a loser I am. How much do I owe you for those pearls of wisdom?

I'm glad you're talking again, Dwayne. You're not nearly as stupid as you look.

Who is that? Nietzsche? So you stopped talking because of Friedrich Nietzsche? Far out.

Have I mentioned that I am the preeminent Proust scholar in the US?

He fell in love with another man,a colleague of mine; Larry Sugarman.

Did you know that "a la mode", in French, translates literally to "in the fashion"? A la moooode... It comes from the latin word modus to do or proper measure.

You know, Bryson, I wasn't actually hiding this. I wasn't lying about being dry either. The thing is, Bryson, I love to drink. Everything about it. I love the taste. And that buzz you get after you've had a couple. I love the smell of the tavern, right down to the urinal cakes. Hmm. But instead of going into the taverns like everybody else, I go home to my little apartment, and heat my TV dinner, and feel all virtuous like I'm supposed to.

But you know, night after night it's hard to persuade yourself that you're living a rich and thrilling existence. I mean, if they had a fun-o-meter the needle wouldn't exactly be jumping into the orgasmic zone. You know what I'm saying?

I mean, there's just this hole in my life where drinking used to be.

I know I can't drink. I mean, one drink will lead to 10. And the next thing, I'll find myself underneath a bridge somewhere.

That's why I carry this. To remind myself that I can. Or maybe I carry it in case I can't.

The only way of looking at it. As far as I'm concerned, we walked the Appalachian Trail. We walked it in the heat, we walk it in the snow, we walked it until our feet bled. We hiked the Appalachian Trail, Bryson.

In your absence, my romantic life has taken a turn for the better. Remember the laundromat? Her name is Beulah.

Yeah, seriously. And she's got a beautiful body. Buried under two hundred pounds of fat. But then, you know I kinda like a little meat on the bone.

Never buy underpants for a woman you don't know.