Quote

I walk around the room eating goose liver and puffy bread until there's a knock on the door. Effie's calling me to dinner. Good. I'm starving.

Suzanne Collins

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Suzanne Collins
Age: 62
Born: 1962
Born: August 10
Executive Producer
Novelist
Science Fiction Writer
Screenwriter
Writer
Hartford
Connecticut
Suzanne Marie Collins
Suzanne Collins
Rooms
Bread
Walks
Dinner
Effie
Around
Calling
Puffy
Good
Door
Goose
Eating
Geese
Doors
Liver
Walk
Starving
Room
Knock

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Well, I don't have much competition here. You don't have much competition anywhere.
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Once I'm on my feet i realize escape might not be so simple, panic begins to set in. i can't stay here. flight is essential but i can't let my fear show. Winning means fame and fortune, losing mean certain death, The Hunger Games have begun . . .
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Technically, I am unarmed. But no one should ever underestimate the harm that fingernails can do. Especially if the target is unprepared.
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Ally. Peeta says the words slowly, tasting it. Friend. Lover. Victor. Enemy. Fiancee. Target. Mutt. Neighbor. Hunter. Tribute. Ally. I'll add it to the list of words I use to try to figure you out. The problem is, I can't tell what's real anymore, and what's made up.
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Whose is it, do you think? I say finally. No telling, says Finnick. Why don't we let Peeta claim it, since he died today?
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And to us, we're more married than any piece of paper or big party could make us.
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The main thing I feel is a sense of relief. That I can give up this game. That the question of whether I can succeed in this venture has been answered, even if that answer is a resounding no. That if desperate times call for desperate measures, I am free to act as desperately as I want.
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You know what I miss? More than anything? Coffee. -- Plutarch Heavensbee
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Only I keep wishing I could think of a way...to show the Capitol they don't own me. That I'm more than just a piece in their Games.
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I pull the sleeping bag up to his chin and kiss his forehead, not for the audience, but for me. Because I'm so grateful that he's here, not dead by the stream as I'd thought. So glad I don't have to face Cato alone.
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You're alive, I whisper, pressing my palms against my cheeks, feeling the smile that's so wide it must look like a grimace. Peeta's alive.
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Because that's what you and I do, protect each other.
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I poke around in the pile, about to settle on some cod chowder, when Peeta holds out a can to me. “Here.” I take it, not knowing what to expect. The label reads LAMB STEW.
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Tuck in your tail, little duck.
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I don't write about adolescence. I write about war. For adolescents.
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its not in my nature to go down without a fight even when things seem insurmountable
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Thank you for you consideration
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I'm so tired, Katniss.
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To this day, I can never shake the connection between this boy, Peeta Mellark, and the bread that gave me hope, and the dandelion that reminded me that I was not doomed.
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I keep hoping that as time passes by, we’ll regain the ease between us, but part of me knows it’s futile. There’s no going back.
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